Change of Tides
by HogwartsDreamer113
Summary: Finnick Odair. Tribute. Mentor. Lover. Friend. Heartthrob of the Capitol. This is the man readers fell in love with in Catching Fire and whose death they bawled over in Mockingjay. This is the story of a fourteen year old boy's journey to become that man, starting with the sixty-fifth Annual Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1: Dare

**Author's note: Hi there! Nice to meet you! Or, if I already know you, nice to see you!**

**Welcome to the story of Finnick Odair, from his games to right after the reaping of the 70****th**** Hunger Games. This story covers his growth from an innocent boy to the slightly broken yet lovable victor we know. I hope you enjoy the story. :)**

**Reviews mean the world to me, and each one warms my heart and makes my day. :) **

_**Change of Tides**_

**Chapter 1: Dare**

"_Young people don't always do what they're told, but if they can pull it off and do something wonderful, sometimes they can escape punishment" - Rick Riordan, author_

To someone who isn't from District Four, throwing a trident at a fish in the water and one at a target are the same act, but as any fisherman knows, they are two completely different skills. For targets, the thrower has to just throw straight with enough power and good aim to hit their mark while a fisherman has to know the right angle to throw the trident in order to hit the fish because of the reflection on the water. Some people can hit a fish but not a target, and others vice versa. Luckily for me, I can do both.

"I'll get you next time, Odair!" my best friend, Sitka Holland, says after losing yet another throwing challenge to me.

"Yeah, right," I laugh, "and someday I'll beat you in maces and hand-to-hand!" Sitka is _huge_ for being just fourteen, and can kick my ass in about a minute, although I'd never admit that to him. Then again, he already knows.

Sitka grins. "Sure. When dolphins rebel and start eating sharks!" he says with a laugh, and we head to our usual lunch table where a group of eighteen-year-olds are just sitting down, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

"What a geek!" one is saying. "What is he doing here?"

"I know," Bronson, the guy who is rumored to be volunteering this year, scoffs. "If he is reaped tomorrow, I won't even volunteer for him."

The others add words of agreement. "And waste all your training?" Bronson's girlfriend asks.

He nods. "In a heartbeat."

I glance in the direction the group came from and am not surprised to find Nyle Degardi sitting alone. A year older than me, Nyle isn't particularly talented at anything here. To make matters worse, he has a very obvious stutter, causing him to be ridiculed by most of the training center, other than the younger kids. He's a nice guy though, and I'm probably the only friend he has, other than his older sister. He certainly doesn't deserve to die though.

"I would volunteer for him," I say. Bronson laughs. The older trainees never take anyone under sixteen or seventeen years old seriously, which annoys Sitka to no end. I honestly couldn't care less what they think.

"Oh yeah?" Bronson smirks. "Why?"

_Because there's no reason for him to die, and I have a better chance than he does_, I think, but instead I shrug and say, "It's the Hunger Games. If you guys aren't going to volunteer, why shouldn't I?" This of course, is an act. While I do have a better chance than Nyle, I'm not so arrogant as to believe that I'd have no problem winning the Games at fourteen. Any fourteen-year-old to volunteer against seventeen and eighteen-year-olds better have a good reason other than "I want to win and be famous". There's so much that can be learned in four years.

Bronson smirks. "Alright. If Degardi is reaped, we'll let you go in. But otherwise it's going to be me in that arena. Deal?"

"Deal," I say. He holds out his hand, and I shake it. It's a dangerous deal to make, one that puts my life in jeopardy. Chances are though, Nyle won't be reaped, and Bronson will volunteer. And if he is, I know these guys. They've been training for the games for most of their lives. This is not something they would so readily give up.

* * *

><p>"Finnick, where have you been?" my mom asks as I rush into the house the following afternoon with bare feet and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. "You're not even dressed, and the reaping is in an hour!"<p>

At the other end of the table, my dad laughs. "Come on Meredith, don't you know the look of a young fisherman when you see one?"

Mom smiles slightly despite herself. "Alright," she says, "just hurry."

A half an hour later, my parents and I leave for the reaping. As we walk, we are greeted by several "Good afternoon, Mr. Odair's" and "How's it going, Aberdeen?"'s My dad is the most recognizable man in the district, other than the mayor himself. Dad is in charge of the fish distribution, and decides how much fish goes where. Within reason, of course, since the Capitol has set strict restrictions, maximums, and minimums he must follow. Many people fish for him, and then Dad distributes the fish as equally as he can. Many people in Four either work for him, are friends with him, or both. Because of his high-up position, my family is one of the wealthiest in the district. My whole life, my parents have taught me to treat others equal or better than myself, and I try not to take anything for granted.

When we arrive at the sign-in station outside the Justice Building, my dad stops to talk to one of his fishermen, Mr. Cresta. Meanwhile, I get in line behind Mr. Cresta's daughter, Annie.

"Hey Annie," I say cheerfully.

Annie jumps. She turns to face me, looking very flustered. "Hi Finnink. Sorry, you kind of scared me."

I laugh slightly. "It's okay," I reply. I may not know her well, since she's two years younger than me, and we've only spoken a few times, but I do know she's a nice girl, quiet, but still friendly. Although I'd never admit it, she's really kind of pretty, with wavy, dark brown hair and dark green eyes. She's prettier than most of the girls my age that I've flirted with or kissed, a number that isn't as much as Sitka says.

Annie is smiling, but I can still tell she is nervous. "Hey, don't worry," I say. "This is your first reaping. Your name is only in there once, right?"

Annie shakes her head. "I took out some tesserae," she whispers. "Not a lot, but…"

I wince. I had forgotten that the Crestas live in the poorest part of the district. Mrs. Cresta died three or four years ago, and Mr. Cresta works as an artist as well as a fisherman to support his four children, but I guess it still isn't enough.

"Oh… well, it will still be fine. Someone should volunteer for you if you are reaped," I say in reassurance as she moves up to check-in. Then Annie goes to the twelve-year-old girls section, and I head to the fourteen-year-old boys.

"Hey!" Sitka calls as I join him in the crowd. "You should totally ask out that girl!"

"Who, Annie?" I ask in surprise as I feel my ears growing warm. "She's _twelve_, Holland!"

"So?! She's in to you! It's so obvious!"

Before I have a chance to reply, the mayor comes to the stage and gives the same speech he gives every year before calling Chauncey, our elderly escort, onto the stage. Chauncey is an old man in his sixties or seventies and has been escorting in District Four since before I was born. He's slightly short for a man of his age and is on the thinner side. His sky blue hair and mustache would probably be white had he not dyed them, and his eyes are an unnatural blue-violet color, probably from colored contacts. Clothing-wise, he's dressed somewhat normally in a suit the same color as his hair with a white daisy attached near his left shoulder.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the District 4 reaping of the 65th annual Hunger Games!" His voice is cheerful, yet not overenthusiastic. "My name is Chauncey Eugene Katz, and I've been escorting in District 4 for seventeen years, and for fifty years total. I am very saddened to announce this is my last year, however, as I will be retiring."

The crowd claps politely for Chauncey, along with some cheers and boos mixed in. When the crowd settles down again, Chauncey simply continues.

"Firstly, let's choose a lucky young lady," he says, reaching in to the female bowl and drawing a name. "Circe Jennings!"

Before I can find out who Circe Jennings is, someone boldly calls out, "I volunteer!" A sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl pushes her way to the front of the crowd and rushes to the stage.

Chauncey beams. "A volunteer! Excellent! What's your name, miss?"

"Mariah Manchester."

"Congratulations, Mariah!" Chauncey says, shaking her hand. "Now for the young lads!"

It seems hours have passed before Chauncey draws a name. "Nyle Degardi!"

Everyone is silent. No one is volunteering. Bronson and the other older boys are watching me. He smirks, his eyes saying something along the lines of, "Come on, I dare you. Don't be a chicken."

Meanwhile, Nyle slowly walks towards the stage, his legs shaking violently. His sixteen-year-old sister, Nala looks like she's about to cry, and the crowd is so silent, I can hear his mother begin to sob. Against my better judgment, I step forward. "Wait! I… I volunteer!"

* * *

><p>I sit in the justice building, wondering if this really happed. Of course it did; I'm just having second thoughts.<p>

The door opens, and my parents come in. I immediately feel guilt when I see the tears in my mother's eyes. "Oh Finn… Why?" She asks "I thought we agreed that we were only enrolling you in the training center just in case you were reaped and no one volunteered. You promised you wouldn't volunteer!"

"I'm sorry, Mom," I say, ducking my head, "but I had to." I then explain the events at the training center and why I had to volunteer for Nyle. I can see my parents begin to understand, but they still seem upset.

"I'm disappointed that you disobeyed us, especially when you are only fourteen," my dad sighs. "Yet at the same time, I can't help but be proud of you. We know you can pull this off."

I hug my parents for possibly the last time before the peacekeepers take them out.

Sitka comes in next. "Dude, I can't believe you'd actually do it!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, well… it was the right thing to do." I say casually. For the rest of his visit, Sitka talks about how I'm going to "kick the other tributes' asses" and is still trying to talk as the peacekeepers force him to leave.

The next visitor, Annie, is a surprise. I wasn't expecting her, yet here she is.

"Hi Finnick, she says quietly, not looking me in the eyes. "That was really brave of you. I saw the way those guys looked at you, and I understand why you volunteered."

"Yeah… thanks…" I say, only because that's all that will come out.

"I brought you something," Annie says, holding out a small turtle figurine craved out of a shell. "It's not a pin, so they can't call it a weapon. It's Velcro, and will hopefully stick on your shirt. I thought it could be your token."

"Thanks Annie," I say, giving her a hug.

When the door opens for the fourth set of visitors, the peacekeeper seems to be very annoyed. "This is the last visit. Then you're leaving." He slams the door, leaving me with Nyle and Nala Degardi.

"F-Finnick?" Nyle asks timidly, as if asking permission to speak to me.

"Hey Nyle," I reply, giving a nod and a friendly smile.

"W-why did you v-volunteer for m-me? I-I'm in training t-too…."

"I know. But you don't train with plans of volunteering right?" Nyle shakes his head. "I saw how scared you were. And no one else was going to volunteer. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

Nyle considers this, and then nods. "Well, th-thanks."

"Yeah, thanks Finnick," Nala chimes in. "You're not too bad."

A compliment from an older girl. Nice. "You're not too bad yourself," I respond coolly.

"Good luck, Finnick." Nala says as the peacekeepers open the door again. Not long later, two peacekeepers take me by the arms and drag me down the hall and out the side door where the train is waiting. I know there is no turning back now. Once I board the train, I will begin the journey that will change everything forever.


	2. Chapter 2: Choice

**Author's note: Thank you so much for the positive feedback last chapter. It is very much appreciated.**

**Chapter 2: Choice**

"_Stay committed to your decisions, but stay flexible in your approach." _

_Tony Robbins, life coach, self-help author, and motivation speaker_

When I board the train, I'm greeted by a large lavender colored mop and the yapping of tiny dogs. It's only when Chauncey Eugene calls, "Penelope, come along, my sweet," and the mop trots back to him that I realize that the mop is actually one of those bigger sized Capitolite poodles with long, corded hair that I'm sure is not naturally light purple in color. Around Chauncey's feet dance a small black poodle and an even smaller cream colored poodle.

"Um… what's with the mutts?"

Chauncey looks appalled and scoops up the smallest poodle. "They're not _mutts!_ Josephine is a purebred apricot toy poodle, Stanley is a purebred black miniature poodle, and Penelope is a purebred white standard poodle. They have been purebred for generations on end!"

"She sure doesn't look white," I say, gesturing to Penelope.

Chauncey's face turns red. "That's because I had her fur dyed, lad! Don't be an idiot!"

Mariah, who has been sitting soundlessly on the couch, mutters, "It's not white anymore if you dye it."

Chauncey must be hard of hearing, because he doesn't reply. Or he realizes he doesn't have time to respond as the door of the train car opens, and our mentors come in. The first is Marissa Swan. She is the most recent victor, having won only seven years ago. Marissa has wavy chestnut brown hair with caramel colored highlights and a kind smile, but like most victors, I don't know much about her. The other victor, Mags, I know much better, as I should. She's my Grandma Ariella's cousin, and even though Grandma Ariella passed away four years ago, Mags still visits often.

Mags is about to open her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Mariah.

"I want Marissa."

Mags frowns slightly. "Excuse me?"

"I said I want Marissa. I don't want some incompetent old victor."

Mags is far from incompetent. In fact, she has the record for mentoring the most tributes to victory out of any victor. This is because while Mags could retire from mentoring if she wanted to, she chooses her to mentor year after year, saying that it "makes her feel useful". It's her choice. I am I about to argue with Mariah, but decide against it. I want Mags for myself.

Mags remains calm, despite Mariah's rude comment. "I am not incompetent, young lady, and if you don't watch your mouth in the arena, it could get you into trouble. However, if that's the attitude you're going to have towards me, I think it is better for all involved if Marissa _is_ your mentor, if that's alright with her."

Marissa nods and leads Mariah to another car to talk to her privately. Chauncey and his poodles prance off to the dining car, leaving me alone with Mags, who wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. "It's nice to see you, Finnick," she says. "I just wish we weren't on a Capitol-bound train."

"Me too," I sigh, "but I had to volunteer." I then launch into explaining my decision yet again. I realize this isn't going to be the last time I say it.

Mags nods. "Well, you're choice has been made. Now it's just a matter of how you choose to deal with your decision. What's next for you? You're going to be younger than many of the tributes. What are you going to do?"

She looks at me, with intense green eyes. She believes I can win the games. She wants me to believe it too. And I do, or at least that's what my words say when I open my mouth. "I'm going to win."

Mags smiles. "Good. That's the kind of attitude you'll need in the arena. Confident, but not arrogant. The tributes from One and Two will not appreciate an arrogant fourteen year old. Do you understand?" I nod. "At the same time, if you want to be part of their alliance - which I recommend, at least at the beginning - you'll need to show them what you can do. What do you see as your strengths?"

"I can fish and use a trident really well," I reply. "I can handle a spear too. I can swim, and you taught me how to make hooks and tie knots. I can make traps."

Mags nods. "And your weaknesses?"

"My age," I answer automatically. "I'm not good at hand to hand, so if I can't get a weapon, I might be in trouble."

Mags nods again. "Now, take your strengths and focus on them. Remember you still have weaknesses and that you are not invincible, but don't dwell on it. That will be key to your survival. Got it?"

I nod, taking Mags's words to heart. She's seventy-two years old, and was Four's first victor. She definitely knows what she's talking about.

"Now, why don't we just relax," Mags says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Once in the Capitol, you won't have time to ourselves for hours."

I smile slightly and settle down next to Mags on the sofa, watching the scenery cruise by. The peace doesn't last long though, because soon Chauncey comes back in with his dogs, Marissa, and Mariah, demanding that we all watch the reapings together. Mags and Marissa provide notebooks and pens for Mariah and me to take notes in. I especially pay close attention to districts One and Two, since I could potentially be in an alliance with them. The girl from District One, Merit, looks calm, yet excited. The boy, Dusk, jumps up and down and whoops, a giddy grin on his face. The girl from Two is a little intimidating, with long, curly dark hair and bright blue eyes. Her district partner, a tall, tired looking boy with medium brown hair winces slightly as she nearly crushes his hand. All four are volunteers, of course. Mariah looks bold and confident, just as she did at the actual reaping, and I look a lot braver than I sounded and felt.

Only a few other tributes stand out to me. The boy from Five is probably twelve, but he looks even younger. The girl from Six is dressed in rags and has a crazed look in her eyes. The boy from Seven looks strong, like he's spent his whole life swinging an axe. Both tributes from Ten look younger than me. They must know each other, because as soon as they boy gets to the stage, they clasp each other's hands. The girl from Twelve looks like she has a better chance than most years. She doesn't look starving, and does her best to look strong. Out of all of us, she might be the most courageous.

"Alright, now that we've finished that, you best get ready," Chauncey says, shutting off the television. "We'll be in the Capitol in approximately an hour." He then takes his poodles and relocates to a different part of the train.

Marissa and Mariah head off to the dining car to get something to get something to eat. I'm about to follow, but holds me back. "Listen, Finnick," she says softly, "you are a handsome young man. The Capitol will love you, if you let them. How flirtatious can you be?"

"Flirtatious?" I ask, confused as to why she's asking this of me.

Mags nods. "Okay. I can try," I reply and clear my throat, flashing what I hope to be a swoon-worthy smile. "Ladies, ladies, calm yourselves. There's a hundred of you and only one of me!"

The words sound foreign to me, like they aren't my own. I make a face. Mags, on the other hand, seems pleased. "Good. Just try to make it more natural."

"Why am I doing this?"

"Sponsors," Mags replies. "Trust me, the more attractive you act, the more sponsors will flock to me wanting to help you out in any way they can. It's terrible, the way they view children, but it's what keeps many victors alive."

I nod, and Mags and I go get some dinner.

* * *

><p>The crowd of Capitolites cheers wildly, all because of the four of us, two tributes and two victors. I wave and smile and wink to various women in the crowd, and some even faint. I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose in distaste. Mariah, however, just rolls her eyes and moves on.<p>

I spend the next few hours being prettied up by my prep team. I don't catch their names, because all three are too busy gushing about how adorable I am. They tell me they don't have to do much to "perfect" me, but it sure seems like a lot, between trimming my hair just right, waxing my eyebrows, clipping my nails, and stripping me of all "excess body hair". They then leave me in nothing but a pair of underwear.

My stylist is dressed in orange literally from head to toe. Orange spiky hair, orange eye shadow, orange lipstick, orange nail polish, and an orange suit. Even his skin is a yellow-orange color.

"Let me guess… You're favorite color is orange," I say when he comes in.

The stylist beams. "Oh, you're good! My name's Augustus! And you must be Finnick Odair!"

"No, I'm Mariah Manchester."

Augustus blinks in confusion, and at first I think he believed me, but then he laughs. "Oh good, a joker! I like tributes with a sense of humor!" He eyes me up and down. "Okay, you're not going to not like me much. You might even find this outfit humiliating, but I swear I'm doing it only for your own good!"

I'm about to ask what he's talking about, but as soon as he pulls a piece of green material out of his bag, I know exactly what he's talking about.

Less than an hour later, I'm standing outside waiting for the ceremony to start. The only thing covering my private areas is a piece of green fabric designed to look like seaweed. The material does its job, but just barely. Around my wrists and ankles are thick gold bracelets. That's it.

The white horses attached to the chariot are some of the most magnificent animals I've ever seen. I stroke their noses for a moment before noticing a bowl of sugar cubes sitting on the ground not too far away. Since I've always had a sweet tooth, I scoop up a handful and stand up again, tossing them in my mouth one by one as I look around at all the other chariots. Suddenly I feel something wet in my palm and I jump. One of the horses has craned its neck to reach my hand and eat the sugar cubes in it. I laugh. "So you like the sugar cubes too, huh?"

Mariah joins me then, with a costume just as revealing as mine, with a top that hardly covers her breasts. We hop on our chariot, ready to get the ceremony over with. I try to make conversation, but Mariah mostly ignores me, staring straight ahead. Our stylist come to give us last minute advice such as "act as though your best friends going for a ride" and "don't forgot to smile and wave and… Oh! Don't forget to wink too! The Crowd _loves_ that!"

Then the chariot pulls forward into the gleaming lights and screaming crowd. I smile, wave, wink, and flirt, just as I was told. I feed off the crowd, and I feel like the excitement I give off actually seems genuine. The crowd goes wild over all the tributes, some more than others, Mariah and I included. After riding around the circle, the chariot comes to a stop, right before the president himself.

**Author's note: And there's the second chapter. Hopefully it wasn't too boring, since I know I for one have read a lot of chariot ride scenes and have written three already so far myself. It's honestly not my favorite thing to write, but oh well. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter anyway. **

**Next Chapter: Training begins, and Finnick meets his potential alliance, in addition to a few other tributes. **


	3. Chapter 3: Impressions

**Chapter 3: Impressions**

"_You never get a second chance to make a first impression"_

_Will Rogers, actor_

After the chariot rides, Mariah, our mentors, Chauncey and his poodles, and I ride the elevator to the fourth floor of the training center. Our floor, like the rest of the Capitol, contains only the best, from velvet couches and polished mahogany tables to marble pillars and King's sized beds with satin sheets and soft, luscious pillows. It seems a little extravagant for tributes that theoretically have a four percent chance of surviving the arena, but I'm not going to complain.

Dinner too, is taken a little overboard. There is some seafood, which I'm used to, but there are also a lot of foreign foods, like juicy, tender steak and baked potatoes loaded with cheese, bacon, chives, and a creamy white substance called sour cream. I eat so much that I think I won't be hungry again until the Games start, but then the avoxes bring out dessert; cakes, pies, brownies, ice cream and many other types of sugary deliciousness. Sugary foods are a special treat back home, but I can't resist anything sweet, so I have my fill now while I can. While my taste buds love me, my stomach does not, and after dinner I collapse on one of the couches, unable to move. Marissa and Mariah head to Mariah's room, leaving Mags, Chauncey, and me in the main room.

"Alright, Finnick, sit up. We need to talk about tomorrow," says Mags as she peers down at me.

"But, Mags," I groan. "I'm full!"

Mags raises an eyebrow. "And how does that affect your ability to sit up? Honestly! You'd think I was asking you to climb a mountain!"

I laugh and ease myself into a more upright position, allowing Mags to take a seat beside me. "Now, when you saw President Snow for the first time in person, what was your impression of him?"

I think back to the opening ceremony. "He seemed… cold. He was kind of intimating, like he was about to kill off any one of us if he wanted to then and there with just a wave of his hand."

Mags nods. "That is exactly what he wants you to believe. Intimidation is his way of keeping victors and the districts in line. Making a strong, clear first impression is vital to maintaining his role as the fearsome ruler of Panem, and as a tribute, making the right first impression is just as important to you. As I said before, you need to show the other volunteer tributes confidence and prove you are worthy of being a part of their alliance, without appearing arrogant. You'll only have one chance to show the other tributes the side of you that you wish them to see. "

I nod. "Okay."

"The same goes for the Capitolites," Mags continues. "Only with them, you will need to charming and flirtatious, with the air of a heartbreaker. You have appearance on your side, Finnick, despite being only fourteen, and the more you take advantage of that, the more sponsors you'll earn."

I frown slightly. Air of a Heartbreaker? That's not me. But if Mags believes that's what the Capitol wants and it will increase my chances, then so be it. I nod again.

Mags gives me a hug. "I think that's enough information for now. Go get some rest; you're going to need it."

"Thanks, Mags," I say, smiling slightly. I then head to the bathroom to take a hot shower. I play with the many controls for a while, enjoying the fact that the water never cools. Afterwards, I head to my room, hoping for a good night's sleep before training starts in the morning.

* * *

><p>"What do you think our allies are going to be like?" I ask Mariah. She and I are among the first tributes to arrive at training, and not knowing what else to do, I try to make conversation. Mariah, however, only scowls.<p>

"How do you know we'll have the same allies?"

"Well, usually Four allies with Two and One, so I guess I assumed we would," I reply awkwardly.

"Don't assume simply because you're from Four you'll automatically be accepted into the career pack, Odair," Mariah sneers.

Before I can reply, a girl with long, dark blonde hair and blue eyes strolls gracefully towards us. A boy with light brown eyes who's thick, wavy hair falls slightly past his ears and is a few shades darker than the girl's trails after her.

"Are you the tributes from District Four?" the girl asked in a calm, dream-like voice.

I smile at her, "Yeah!"

The boy bursts out laughing, and his District partner looks at him in confusion. "What's so funny, Dusk?"

"This can't be District Four!" Dusk exclaims. "Look at this kid! He's a shrimp!"

The girl glares at him. "Don't be rude!" Turning to me, she adds, "I'm sorry about him."

I shrug. "It's fine. I _am _smaller than the rest of you. I'm only fourteen, after all," I say, and then add as an afterthought, "but I'm not going to let my age get in my way."

"That's a good attitude to have," the girl says, smiling. "I'm Merit Breckenridge, by the way, and this is Dusk Lowry. We're from District One."

"I'm Finnick Odair."

"Nice to meet you," Merit says, turning to Mariah. "And you?"

"Mariah Manchester."

"One! Four! Enough introducing yourselves by names that will not matter and listen!"

The four of us turn our heads, where a tall girl struts towards us. Her unruly dark hair swings back and forth in her thick ponytail, and her grey eyes are wild, cold, and calculating, and if she's plotting how to pick each of us off, one by one. A boy with brown hair walks a few paces behind her with his head down, as if he is ashamed to been seen with her.

"You must be the tributes from Two," Merit says. "I'm sorry; I don't remember your names."

"Antigone Forte. But who cares? All you need to know is that I will be the leader of the Career alliance this year. Any objections?"

The gleam in her eyes tell me that anyone who objects will be first on Antigone's kill list. Everyone else seems to take the hint, too. The other guys shrug, while Mariah stays quiet, shaking her head. "Alright," Merit says for all of us. "That's fine."

"It better be fine," Antigone snarls.

"I'm not lying. I have no interest in leading any alliance," Merit replies before turning to the boy from Two. "What's your name?"

"Roman Itasca," the boy mutters quietly.

Before Merit can reply, Atala, the head trainer, blows a whistle to get to get our attention. She then explains the stations and the rules to us before setting us free to train.

"Alright, volunteers," Antigone sneers. "Let's see what you all can do."

The six of us begin to wander around the training center, attempting a variety of weapons. Dusk prefers a mace, and seems to be convinced that he will be able to obtain a one in the arena. He tries the other weapons a few times each, but then stands back to watch. Merit is an archer, and can hit the target straight on the bull's-eye the majority of her attempts. Besides accuracy, she can reload and fire again faster than anyone I've ever seen. Roman has some skill with spears, and is decent in hand-to-hand. Antigone is frighteningly accurate with daggers, and is just as speedy with them as Merit is with her bow. She can also manage a sword, but daggers are definitely her strong suit. Mariah does the best with small throwing hatchets.

"I thought you were from Four, not Seven!" Dusk says with a laugh. Apparently he's the only one who finds himself funny. "Shouldn't you be using fishing gear instead?"

Mariah shrugs. "I don't fish. I like hatchets."

Personally, I stay away from my weapon of choice, the tridents. When it came to both my training and fishing, I have been handy with a trident since I was young, but I don't want my competitors knowing that. Not yet. So, I show off my skills with a spear. My throwing isn't quite as good as it normally is when using Four's spears or tridents, but it's still career-worthy, I think. Mariah looks indifferent and Merit and Dusk look slightly impressed. Roman gaze is on the floor, and Antigone's expression is unreadable.

By the time we're almost done experimenting with all they weapons we're interested in, lunch is ready. The six of us huddle together at a single table. Looking around, I see a few tributes in pairs, but most tributes eat alone. Not surprisingly, we are the largest group by far.

After lunch, we decide to split up and learn as much as we can about the other tributes. Or more accurately, Antigone decides for us. I head over to the fire-starting station, remembering the bonfires I used to have on the beach with my family and friends. I never learned how to build on myself, and now I wish I had. Already piling up logs in two separate hearths are two girls. One is about my age or a little older, with light brown hair streaked with blonde and honey brown eyes. The other seems a few years older, with dark hair and bright blue eyes.

"Hi!" the first girl says bubbly as I kneel down and gather my logs. "I'm Raisin, from Eleven, and this is Ivy, from Twelve! Who are you?"

"Finnick Odair, District Four," I say and then pause. "Did you say Raisin?"

Raisin grins. "Yep! My real name is Rayanne, but my little brother couldn't say Rayanne when he was little, so he said Raisin instead. It stuck."

I laugh. "Oh, okay. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," says the other girl, Ivy.

I talk to the girls as I build my fire. Both are friendly and interesting to talk to, and I have a feeling they would be inseparably best friends if they had grown up in the same district. But unfortunately, this is the Hunger Games. One of them has to die, preferable both if I want to go home. The two are surprisingly similar, both cheerful and talkative. Raisin seems to be more bubbly and energetic, though, while Ivy is calm and considerate.

After the fire-making station, I move on to snares, where the small boy from five is working. As soon as he sees me, he sloppily finishes his project and moves away from me as soon as he can. I shrug, and focus on showing the trainer what I already know. When I'm almost finished, Merit appears on my right.

"Wow, Finnick! You're really good at this!"

I smile slightly. "Thanks," I reply, tying the final knot. "There. All finished."

"That's really quite amazing! Mind if I show the other?"

I shake my head. "I guess not." Merit seeks out the other careers, showing each one my snare. I'm not sure why she's doing this or if she's trying to help me or hurt me. It seems to help, whether that was her goal or not.

"Huh," Antigone grunts as she examines my snare. "I admit, I didn't think you'd be very useful when I first saw you, little guppy, but I think you may prove me wrong."

I do my best to ignore the "little guppy" nickname and focus on the rest of Antigone's words. I don't want to be just a tool for her to use in the games, a tool she'd just dispose of once she grew tired of me. But for now, a tool is certainly better than being shark bait right from the start. All in all, I consider today a success first day of training.

**Author's note: Sorry for the long delay. School's keeping me way too busy. I'm only posting now because I have a snow day. In April. That we're probably going to have to make up in June. *sigh* I'd love to be in District Four right now… Anyone else? :)**

**Next Chapter: A little more training, training scores, a chat with Four's second mentor, Marissa, and possibly interviews.**


	4. Chapter 4: Charming

**Chapter 4: Charming**

_It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious._

_Oscar Wilde_, author

Days Two and Three of training are similar to Day One. We get up early, train hard and discuss strategy. By day three, it is decided that all six tributes from One, Two, and Four will ally together. I guess we all made the cut. I don't know how long the alliance will last, but I know that if I want to survive, I have to find the right balance between staying when the numbers are in my favor, and leaving when the games are close to ending. Hopefully Mags can help me with that.

While we wait to be scored, my alliance clumps together. The girl from Six rocks back and forth, biting her nails. Ivy and Raisin sit right next to each other, the boy from Eight whispers reassuringly to his district partner, and the tribute's from Ten clutch each others hands. Otherwise, the room is silent.

Dusk is called. Then Merit, followed by Roman, then Antigone, then a small boy named Alfred, and then finally, a tall girl named Sonja. Knowing we're being called in District order, I'm next. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Training scores aren't everything, Mags says. She only got a six in her games. However, the higher my score, the more sponsors I'll get.

"Finnick Odair," the robotic voice calls. Here I go. Time to impress the gamemakers.

"Good luck," I say to Mariah, but she ignores me, so I enter the evaluation room without another word.

Everything is set up in the same way it has been over the past few days, but the atmosphere is different. The other tributes are obviously absent, along with the trainers. In their place is a line of gamemakers, peering down at me from the balcony with criticizing eyes. They mean to intimidate me, but I'll do my best to ignore them.

I start off by introducing myself. "Finnick Odair. District Four."

"You have ten minutes."

I take off towards the spears, working quickly, but with accuracy. Out of the three I throw, all hit the target, but only one hits the middle of the bullseye. One hits the edge of the bullseye, and the third hits the ring closest to it. I'm satisfied though, and run to the snares, where I take most of my ten minutes making a presentable trap. It's not my best, but I think it's well-made, considering I have less than ten minutes to make it, and more time once I'm in the arena. The gamemakers ought to recognize that. Once I finish my snare, I move on to the tridents, throwing one after another as quickly as I can. The satisfying thud of each trident hitting near or on the bullseye keeps me focused and motivated, and I barely hear the head gamemaker call time.

Most of the gamemakers seem pleased with what I have done, which is a relief. "Thank you," I say and bow polite before leaving the room. I've done all I can. Now all I can do is wait.

* * *

><p>Everyone on the District Four floor crowds around the t.v. that night, Chauncey's poodles included. Penelope, the big purple poodle, lies at my feet, and I stroke her head as I wait for my score.<p>

"Good evening, Panem!" Caesar Flickerman says cheerfully. His hair is a bright neon green this year, and I find it a little distracting. "Get ready for the highly anticipated… training scores! First off… Dusk with a score of… nine!"

Merit scores an eight, while Roman gets a nine as well. Antigone scores a ten. Alfred and Sonja receive a four and six, respectively. Then, it's my turn.

"Finnick… with a score of… ten! Ladies and gentlemen, do you realize how incredible this is?! Finnick Odair has broken the record for the highest score ever obtained by a _fourteen_ year old! Give him a round of applause!"

Ten?! Did he say _ten__?! _Mags squeezes me in a tight hug, and Marissa high fives me.

Mariah, however, only scowls.

"Jolly good!" Chauncey cheers. "You show them how it's done, lad!"

Mags quiets us down again as Mariah's picture comes onto the screen. "Mariah… with a score of… eight!"

Chauncey and the mentors congratulate her, but Mariah only mutters a grumpy response. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was jealous of my nine.

The rest of the scores pass by quickly. The little twelve-year-old from Five, Logan, gets only a three. His district partner, Ruthie, gets a seven. Zev from District 6 gets a score to match his District number, while shaky, paranoid Elsa receives the lowest score I can remember anyone getting; a two. Hawk, the boy from Seven, gets a nine. I'm sure Antigone will target him right away. Fawn, Hawk's district partner, gets a six. The eight tributes, Bernard and Agatha, get a seven and four, respectively. From Nine, Tucker earned a five, and Teresa a three. The twelve year olds from Ten , Bronco and Dixie get a five and a four. From eleven, Granger and Raisin both earn fives. Finally, from District Twelve, Elmer gets a four, and Ivy a seven. Then Caesar bids everyone goodnight, and Mags shuts off the tv.

"Mariah," she says, "I would like to speak with you in your room now. "

Mariah blows a raspberry and rolls her eyes, but retreats to her room with Mags following behind. I wonder what this is about, but then Chauncey heads to the kitchen, and Marissa turns to me. "That leaves you and me, Finnick? Mind if we have a little chat about your strategy so I can get to know you?"

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose?" I ask, genuinely confused. "You're Mariah's mentor. Shouldn't you be getting to know her, and Mags be helping me. Anything I say you can use to help her."

Marissa hesitates. "Well, yes, I am Mariah's mentor, but Mags and I are a team. Our goal is for one of our tributes to come home, and when one tribute dies, both of us turn our attention to the remaining tribute in hopes that together, we can save them. That's why I want to get to know you. So, tell me about yourself."

I tell her about my life back home. I talk mostly about my parents, my friends, training, and fishing. I also tell her why I volunteered.

Marissa smiles. "Yeah, Mags told me about that. That's brave of you. I volunteered for my younger cousin, actually, when I was eighteen. I wasn't planning on ever volunteering, and apparently, neither did anyone else that year, so I volunteered last minute." She pauses suddenly, lost in thought. "Anyway, enough about me. What's your strategy? Mags said you were taking on a charming appeal, but what else?"

"I was going to stay with my alliance until I thought the time was right," I reply. Other than that, I have no idea."

Marissa nods. "I really don't know what else I can tell you that Mags hasn't already. I personally won the games by outsmarting my fellow careers and turning them against each other. I doubt the girl from Two would fall from anything you tried to do the same."

I shake my head. "Probably not."

We talk for a little while, until Mags comes out of Mariah's room. "One last thing. Do you prefer Finnick, or something else? Do you have a nickname?

I shrug. "Finnick's fine. Sometimes I go by Finn, I guess, but usually that's just my mom. Or this girl I know, Annie. What about you?"

"Rissa," the young victor replies. "By my husband, Reef, a few of the other victors, my family, and my friends. So basically, a lot of people."

I grin. "Can I call you that?"

"Tell you what. Win the games, and then you can."

I laugh. "Deal."

* * *

><p>"No, walk should be more like <em>this," <em>Mags struts across the room, swinging her hips ever so slightly and winking and waving to an imaginary crowd. as she demonstrates how I should walk across the stage at the interviews tonight. She looks so ridiculous, I can't help but burst out laughing.

"Finnick! This is serious!" she scolds, but she eventually loses it and laughs too. "I know, I know. I'm too old to be doing this. But I'm trying to make you lighten up. Make your movements more fluid. Right now, they're too stiff. Try it again."

I cross the room for what must be the twentieth, thirtieth, fortieth time. I try to mimic Mag's walk, modifying her demonstration to fit a fourteen -year-old boy instead a seventy-year-old woman. "Good!" Mags says smiling. "If you add your seductive voice we've been working on, you'll be sure to charm every Capitolite in the audience."

That night, Augustus slicks back my hair and dresses me in light grey slacks, a white dress shirt and a black sweater vest and tie. "There," he says, rolling up my sleeves to the elbows and hemming them. "Now you look fancy, but at the same time, your most attractive areas are still brought out!"

"Uh… thanks," I say. I know Augustus is only trying to help, but I don't know how he thinks of these things.

My stylist grins. "Now problem, kiddo!" He gently pushes me out into the hallway. "Now get out there! It's showtime!"

Merit is the first to the stage. Her sweet, laid back personality makes everyone smile. She talks about her mother and sister who are waiting for her back home. Dusk is energetic and giddy, answering all Caesar's questions with enthusiasm. Antigone is bold, determined and intimidating and she seems ready to kill all of the tributes here and now. Roman doesn't say much and answers questions with as few words as possible. I don't know if he's just shy, or trying to be vague. Mariah tries to seem confident, but I can tell she's nervous. If I were to mention this fact to her though, she'd probably punch me in the face, which won't work for my sexy appeal at all.

The buzzer sounds. "Mariah Manchester, ladies and gentlemen!" The crowd cheers, but settles down so Caesar can announce the next tribute. Me.

"And now, for the brave fourteen year old from District Four that everyone's talking about! Finnick Odair!"

I strut onto the stage just as Mags taught me, trying not to feel awkward. I must not do too terribly of a job, because the crowd screams and cheers wildly. I smile and wave as I sit down, feeling a little overwhelmed. I find Mags in the crowd, and she gives me a reassuring smile. Finally, after what seems like several minutes, Caesar finally gets the crowd under control.

"So Finnick, I hope you're enjoying the Capitol so far. I know everyone just _loves _you."

"I am enjoying the Capitol very much, Caesar. Thanks for asking. And what's not to love about all _this,_" I say seductively, gesturing at my body. The crowd roars to life again, but all I can think is _wrong, wrong, WRONG. _

"Alright folks, alright! I know we all love Finnick Odair, but we have only so little time! Let's let the boy talk while we have the chance." Caesar turns back to me. "Now, you were a volunteer, correct? Can you tell us why you volunteered?"

"Why, I had to Caesar. I knew Nyle, the boy I volunteered for, was scared to go into the games. He didn't think he could win, and no one else was volunteering, so it was the least I could do. Besides, I have a chance to win this thing! I have a nine, after all!"

"Yes, yes!" Caesar cries. "Very impressive! How did you do it? What's your strategy?"

I chuckle. "Now, Caesar, I can't give away my secrets!"

The Capitol host smiles ruefully. "No, I suppose not. Well, then tell me about your life back home? Your family?"

I smile. "I live with my mother and father, who are both very proud of me. I'm an only child."

"And your mentor, Mags Cohen, is related to you, correct?"

I nod. "She's my grandmother's cousin, but she's like another grandmother to me," I look Mags in the eye and wave to her. "Hi Mags!"

The camera zooms in on Mags's face, and she smiles and nods to both me and it.

"So you have your mother, father, and Mags. Anyone else? A girlfriend, perhaps?"

I slowly smile. "Ah, no Caesar. At least, not a _steady_ girlfirend. I'm a bachelor. A very _elligable _bachelor, I might add." I wink at the crowd, which once again cheers and whistles. A few women faint.

"I'm sure everyone is glad to hear that! Finnick, I wish you the best of luck in the games. We would all be devastated if you perished."

I shake my head. "Don't worry. I'll win for you. _All _of you."

Caesar laughs. "That's the spirit! Ladies and gentlemen, Finnick Odair!"

I bow dramatically, resulting in more cheers and hollers, and leave the stage to watch the rest of the interviews. Only a few stand out. The twelve year old boy, Logan melts hearts by talking about his older brother and sister, who both died in the games when _they_ were twelve. It seems he doesn't believe his fate will be any different, which sadly, is most likely true.

After Logan, there is an awkward pause. No one moves. Finally, two peacekeepers enter the hall the tributes are waiting in and yank a girl who was previously hunched over on the ground to her feet. "No! Stop! Don't make me!" the girl screams, but it's no use. The peacekeepers force her into the chair anyway. The crowd is silent, other than a few whispers.

"Elsa Slivinski… District Six." Caesar says. "You scored a two, one of the lowest scores I can remember. Could you tell me what happened?"

Elsa shakes her head. She pulls her knees up to her chest and buries her head in them. Even from here, I can see her shake violently. "N-no! Leave me alone!" she cries.

"I'm sorry, I suppose we just assumed better of a victor's daughter -"

"Don't talk about my mother!" Elsa screams, tears streaming down her face. "She's dead! I'm not her, okay?! I'm not!" She buries her head again and begins crying hysterically.

Caesar awkwardly puts a hand on the eighteen-year-old girl's shoulder, but she jumps and slaps him away. "Don't touch me!"

Caesar sits back in his chair, flabbergasted and clearly unsure what to do. "I… I think someone had better escort this poor girl off the stage."

The peacekeepers half-drag Elsa roughly offstage and dump her on the ground, where the tributes gather around her curiously. The Six girl mutters one word, over and over again. _Morphine. _

My eyes widen with realization. Morphine. She must be a morphine addict. I heard it was kind of a big problem in Six, but I never imagined it ever affected someone so young. I guess it must have something to do with her victor mother.

From that moment, the crowd never gets their energy back. If anything, the rest of the interviews make things worse. Bernard and Agatha, the tributes from eight, reveal that they are half siblings. Agatha grew up with their father , the mayor of Eight and her mother, and Bernard with his maternal aunt. They didn't know about each other until after the reaping, when Bernard's aunt visited them both separately and told them. Bronco and Dixie are twelve-year-old best friends from Ten. Their families were friends for years, and after Bronco's parents both died due to different circumstances, Bronco and his younger brother were taken in by Dixie's family. Not even bubbly Raisin or kind Ivy cheer up the Capitol. As Elmer, the boy from Twelve walks of the stage, everyone is dismissed.

In less than twelve hours, all twenty-four of us will be entering the arena. I hope I never have to kill the twelve-year-olds, or Elsa, or Agatha, or Raisin, or Ivy. But this is the Hunger Games. If I'm going to come home, all twenty-three of the other tributes will have to die.

I'm really not ready for this.

**Author's note: That was the saddest set of interviews I've ever written. Which tribute is your favorite so far, other than Finnick?**

**And yes, I did get the name Elsa from Frozen, but the tribute from Six is **_**definitely **_**not based on Queen Elsa of Arendelle. **

**Next chapter: We enter the arena. But is everything exactly how it seems?**


	5. Chapter 5: Real

**Author's note: Part of this chapter will be in Mags's p.o.v., both for fun and so I can write the bloodbath easier. :) **

**Chapter 5: Real**

I stare up at the ceiling that night, unable to sleep. I know I should sleep, because I may never get a full eight hours of sleep in again, but I can't. I thought I would be able to, but I can't. How can I, knowing tomorrow, I'll be in a fight to the death? A fight. To the _death_. This is not a game anymore, not like it was for me back in Four. This is _real. _I could kill someone tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. In fact, if I don't kill at least one person, probably more, I'll die instead. Suddenly, all I want is to give up and go home. It's too late for that now. I think I'm starting to regret volunteering, but there's no going back. I'm stuck.

My throat feels as dry as sandpaper, and after a few minutes of hesitation, I slide out of bed for a glass of water. As I quietly swing open the door and pad out to the hallway in my barefeet, I see that I am not the only one awake. A light shines brightly from the living room, and I silently make my way over to investigate. To my surprise, it's Mags. When she hears me come in, she looks up from the book she is reading.

"Finnick, what are you still doing up?" She asks, and I take a seat next to her.

"I can't sleep," I reply. "What about you?"

"I'm having trouble sleeping as well. I often do the night before the games start. I tend to read books that I hope will put me to sleep. Biographies, History of Panem, records of past games."

"Does that work?"

"Sometimes. Other times I just give up." I nod, not sure how to respond. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"No," I sigh, shaking my head. "Not at all."

"What to talk about it?" Mags asks.

"It's just… I don't know how I'm going to be able to stay alive, _and _kill the other tributes. I never planned on volunteering. It was just spur of the moment, I guess. Mags, I don't think I can do this…"

"Then you'll die," Mags says casually.

Needless to say, that was not the answer I was expecting. "Wait, what?!"

"If you don't believe you can win, then you'll die. Despite the name of the competition you are entering, you are not just playing a game. This is real, Finnick. Do you know how old I was when I won the games?"

Surprisingly, I didn't, so I guessed. "Seventeen?"

"No. I was your age, fourteen."

"Really?"

Mags nods. "Yes. No one ever truly wins the Hunger Games. If you're going to survive, you're going to have to believe in yourself and put all your focus into survival. Close everything else out. Can you do that?"

I nod, gaining a new boost of confidence from Mags. "I can. Thanks, Mags," I reply, hugging Mags. Suddenly, I get the urge to do something I haven't since I was nine or ten years old. "Are there any fiction books in here?"

"Yes, I think so. Why?"

"Would you read to me before I try to go to sleep? Like you and Grandma Ariella did when I was little? I think it will calm my nerves."

Mags smiles. "Certainly." She chooses a book from the bookshelf, and together we go back to

my room.

* * *

><p><strong>Mags's p.o.v.<strong>

Growing up, I had two cousins, born to my Aunt Julia and Uncle Hubert. Christiana, the oldest, was a year older than me, and her younger sister, Ariella was two years my junior. Despite being closer in age to Christi, but my relationship with Ariella was always stronger. Still, when Christiana was reaped into the tenth games just a year after I had won the ninth, I did everything I could to get my cousin out. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

In a way, Christiana's death caused Ariella and I to grow even closer. We comforted each other and helped each other heal. Without my younger cousin, healing would have took much longer. Even into adulthood, the two of us were never far apart. I watched her marry Nicholas Jude, a young man who captured her heart, and she saw me fall in love with and marry my late-husband Tyde Cohen, Four's second victor who I mentored through the eleventh games. I stood by her as she gave birth to two children, Meredith and Jonas, and served as their babysitter frequently. In turn, Ariella held me in her arms as I sobbed over the discovery that I could never bare children of my own. Her children became my own as well, and she allowed me to be an important part of their lives as a second motherly figure. Jonas grew up, married, and moved across the district, but Meredith remained nearby, marrying the charming and handsome, newly-appointed head of the fishing industry, Aberdeen Odair. Not long afterwards, I had a new child to care for. Little Finnick Odair.

Over my fifty-seven years of mentoring, I have seen countless heartbreaking reapings and deaths. I've lost more tributes than I care to think about, but nothing prepared me for this year. This year, the fourteen year old boy I love as much as I would love my own grandson has volunteered in the place of another boy. I lost my parents and aunt and uncle decades ago, and Ariella four years ago to cancer; I cannot, _w_ill _not_, lose Finnick as well. I intend for him to outlive me by decades, and I have faith that he will.

Because of my love and concern for Finnick, the walk to the Mentors' Room seems longer than most years. I will do whatever I can for Finnick, but there's only so much a mentor _can_ do. In my younger years as mentor, I would spend the night with Capitol citizens in order to gain sponsors for my tributes. As I aged and my brown hair became grey and my smooth skin became wrinkled, I became less desirable, even by Capitolite standards. While my body and conscious were glad to finally be set free, sponsor money was lost, and the tributes had to rely on their own charm, wit, and skill to get out of the arena. I stressed the importance of not relying on sponsor gifts in the past, but I stressed it even more now.

Year after year, the Mentors' Room doesn't change much. The technology upgrades, but the layout is always the same. A row of twelve large monitors line two of the side walls, while an even bigger one covers the entire back wall. Districts One through Six sit on the left, while Seven through Twelve sit on the right. Each tribute gets their own monitor so that their mentors can watch over them with ease. The main screen shows whatever the rest of the nation is currently viewing. In the corner is a Peacekeepers' guard station, which is always occupied by at least one, usually two or three, peacekeepers who watch over us and "assist" us if we need anything. Right in the middle of the room, velvet sofas and chairs enclose a coffee table on which Capitolite magazines and decks of cards are stacked into neat piles, as if any of us have time to use it. Occasionally mentors who have lost both their tributes play cards, but most return to their floor in the Training Center.

"Good morning, Mags," Beetee Latier, one of District Three mentors says as I take my place next to him. He then nods to Marissa, "Rissa."

Wiress, Beetee's shy but intelligent mentoring partner, gives us a small smile and a wave, but doesn't say anything. Wiress has never been much for talking, and when she does, Beetee often has to finish her sentences for her.

After a few minutes of catching up with the other victors, the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms of the PA system. "Attention all mentors of the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! The Games with be starting in a few minutes, so please take your seats if you have not done so already. The Capitol is happy to see so many familiar faces, and wish all of your tributes the best of luck. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The lights dim slightly, and our screens flicker to life. The first aspect of the arena that I personally notice is the crystal clear lake. The camera takes us on a bird's eye view tour, showing us every detail. And for good reason. This arena is one of the most beautiful I've seen. A deadly paradise, it seems. Surrounding the lake on three sides is a rocky, U-shaped cliff that is wider and thicker than it is long, especially in the middle, and waterfalls pour down into the lake on all sides. Most of the arena is on top of the cliff, a dangerous spot for the Cornucopia, which is perched at the cliff's highest point. The Cornucopia is on a thin strip of land that is separated from the rest of the arena by a wide, raging river. To gain access to the main arena space, tributes with have to brave crossing a swinging bridge swaying a few dozen feet above the relentless water below. Rocky soil covers the arena's ground, and alpine-type forest of pines and aspens trees scatters the landscape. Judging by the scenery, this arena is most likely near the northern edge of Panem, somewhere near District Seven. Finally, the camera zooms in to the Cornucopia again, where the tributes are just starting to rise to their pedestals. Currently, our individual screens mirror the main screen. They will focus on our tributes once the bloodbath is over.

I quickly spot Finnick wedged in between the boy from Six and the girl from Ten. He is dressed in jeans, a light jacket, and hiking boots, just like the other tributes. His eyes scan the Cornucopia carefully in search of a trident. There are none to be found, but there are several spears.

The gong sounds, and the tributes take off like racehorses out of the starting gate. Antigone, the girl from Two, is the first tribute to the Cornucopia. She grabs a couple of knives and chases after the first tribute she sees, which happens to be the small twelve year old from Five. The boy doesn't even come close to making it to the bridge before Antigone's knife hits the small of his back.

Dusk, with the grin of a maniac, hides in the Cornucopia, waiting for his victims. The boy from Six is unsuspecting as he scoops up a backpack. Dusk clubs him in the head with a mace before he can even turn around. Meanwhile, the girl from Nine unfortunately trips, and Mariah, who happened to be standing nearby, lodges an ax in her neck.

Inside the Cornucopia, Finnick picks up a spear before reaching for a backpack to claim as his own. The boy from Eleven reaches for the same pack though, and holds up a scythe threateningly. The boy seems reluctant to use it, however, and Finnick quickly spears the boy before he is killed himself.

The boy from Eight is the first to cross the bridge, not noticing that his half sister is not behind him even though he gestured for her to follow. Instead, the thirteen-year-old girl heads to the Cornucopia, where Dusk makes her his second victim.

Antigone suddenly turns her attention from the bloodbath as she sees motion out of the corner of her eye near the back of the Cornucopia. She creeps around to stab the boy from Twelve in the back. For whatever reason, he seems to have been trying to hide there, a plan that obviously failed.

With everyone else gone, the six careers gather outside the Cornucopia. Exactly a fourth of the tributes lie dead on the group, a number that slightly falls short compared to most years. However, all six tributes were killed by Finnick's alliance. Not bad for the careers themselves.

The bloodbath is over, but the Games have only begun.

* * *

><p><strong>Finnick's p.o.v.<strong>

"Six?! Only six?!" Antigone screams. "That's only a _fourth_!"

While Antigone's furious about the lack of bloodbath tributes, I can't stop thinking about the fact that I killed someone. A boy from Eleven, one who was about my age. My first kill.

"After we sort through supplies, we're going hunting!" Antigone barks.

"I'll get the water," I say, trying to make myself useful. I pick up a large canteen and stroll to the river, peering over shoulder distrustfully to prevent ambushes. I kneel down, reach my hand into the water, and scream. I quickly withdraw my hand to find round, bubbly blisters.

"Finnick!" Merit cries. "What is it?"

"The water," I reply, gritting my teeth in pain. An injury so early in the Games is not good at all. "I think it's poisonous!"

The water is deceiving. It appears clear and safe to drink, but the blisters on my hand say otherwise. It causes me to wonder what else in this arena is a trick. What is real… and what is not?


	6. Chapter 6: Respect

**Author's Note: Sorry that it's been a month since the last chapter. First I had a few finals, plus an English debate (Never. Again. Unless I'm forced. That was scary.) and then my internet broke for more than a week, so no writing, since I use google drive. Anyway, I went back and altered training scores a little. It probably won't make much of a difference though…**

**On another note, I'll have more time now that I'm on summer break, and hope to update at least once a week for the next couple of weeks until I start helping my mom with teaching summer school Mondays through Thursdays for four weeks in July.**

**Enough talking, now. Enjoy the chapter. :)**

**Chapter 6: Respect**

_Being brilliant is no great feat if you respect nothing._

_- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German writer and statesman_

We set out looking for tributes as the sun sets, with Dusk, much to his dismay, forced to guard the Cornucopia by Antigone. The boy from One grumbles and whines about it, but shuts up when Antigone whips out a knife and holds it to his throat, threatening to slit it if he doesn't do as she says. We cross the rickety bridge single file, spacing ourselves out in case the bridge isn't strong enough to support our weight in the same spot. The bridge seems stable, but swings wildly back and forth, causing us to hang on to the ropes for extra support. Within five minutes, everyone is safely across. Antigone takes lead, with Roman and Mariah following not far behind and Merit and I taking up the rear.

For the first forty-five minutes or so, the forest is quiet. The ground is covered in rocks and tree roots, and we spend more time watching where we step than watching for tributes. The soil is gravelly, making any footprints nearly impossible to see. The blisters on my hand burn and sting, but I do my best to ignore the pain. If I want medicine, I can't show weakness in front of the sponsors.

Suddenly, a cannon sounds, and Antigone swears loudly. "That tribute should have been ours!"

"So? That's one more tribute dead," Mariah counters. "It's a good thing."

"And one more tribute that we didn't kill! The Capitolites like vicious careers, Mermaid, and that means they won't be pleased!"

Mariah scowls at the nickname, but doesn't say anything. Hey, she's lucky she's not stuck with "Guppy".

By the time the sun sets and the Capitol Anthem plays, we still haven't found even a trace of the other tributes. We stop walking for a moment and glance up at the sky to see the dead tribute's faces. First is the boy from Three, probably the most recent tribute to die, as I don't remember him dying in the bloodbath. Next is the boy from Five, one of the three twelve year olds, followed by the boy from Six. Then the girls from Eight and Nine. Then the boy from Eleven. I shiver slightly. I killed him. His family is grieving tonight because of me. I don't like the feeling. The boy from Twelve is the last face to appear in the sky before the anthem stops and the lights fade. For the first time in years, all of the districts still have at least one remaining tribute after the bloodbath. Half of them still have both tributes.

"Keep moving," Antigone snaps as she pulls on the only pair of night-vision goggles we have. "I'm not stopping until I kill another tribute."

We continue on, but at a slower pace, stumbling blindly as we go. Only Antigone can walk steady, since she is the only one who can actually see well. She stops every once in a while to make a mark in a tree so that we can find our way back. Merit walks behind me, murmuring quietly to herself, so quietly that only I seem to hear her.

"Rest in peace, Alfred. Rest in peace, Logan. Rest in peace, Zev. Rest in peace, Agatha. Rest in peace, Teresa. Rest in peace, Granger. Rest in peace, Elmer."

I hesitate, wondering if I should comment or keep to myself. Curiosity gets the better of me. "Hey, Merit?" I ask in a whisper.

She looks at me, or I think she does. It's so dark I can't really tell. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?" No, that's not the right question. It's obvious she's acknowledging the deceased tributes. "I mean, why…"

I can't find the right words, but Merit seems to understand what I want to say. "It just seems wrong to not acknowledge those who have died. No one else does, except for loved ones back home, so I made it my goal to memorize everyone's names. That way, I can pay my respect to them."

"That's really kind of you." I'm amazed. Most careers who volunteer for the sole purpose of glory aren't so compassionate. Not all careers are ruthless, but very few want to "pay respect" to the fallen. Many of us try to tune it all out. But not Merit apparently. Perhaps her goal isn't to gain glory and to brutally murder tributes. Before I can ask her, Antigone spins and shushes us quietly. I turn my attention straight ahead and see what must have caught Antigone's attention. A light glows few hundred yards away. I'm not surprised. While the temperature was around sixty degrees during the bloodbath, it has dropped to around thirty, maybe even less. This tribute clearly had two options. Build a fire to stay warm, but alert nearby tributes of their location, or risk freezing to death. This tribute chose the former, but it may not have been the best choice. We slowly approach the fire, keeping our footsteps soft. The fire is small, just barely big enough to serve as a heat source. We wouldn't have been able to see it if we weren't in the area. As we get closer, I can see the form that is most likely the fire's maker, hunched down low near the fire, either asleep or hoping we won't see them. As Antigone readies her knife, though, the tribute springs to their feet and takes off. I think it's a girl, but it's too dark to tell which one. Unable to see clearly enough to accurately throw a knife at a moving target in the dark, Antigone chases after the girl. The other tribute stumbles, giving Antigone the opportunity to tackle her. Antigone doesn't make the kill quickly, and the tribute screams in agony for a minute or two as Antigone cruelly mocks her before the cannon goes off.

"Alright, I'm satisfied," Antigone announces as she stands up. "For tonight. Back to camp."

* * *

><p>The following morning, I open my eyes to see a silver parachute drifting down from the sky. I groan groggily and turn over, assuming it is for someone else, or the alliance as a whole. Soon though, someone is tapping my shoulder.<p>

"Wha-?" I ask drowsily.

"It's for you," Roman says, handing me a small bag. Mariah glares at me as if I took the last piece of jerky.

"If it's anything useful, you better share, Guppy," Antigone commands.

When I untie the parachute and look inside, I see that it's doubtful Antigone would want, at least, not yet. "Ointment," I announce. "For the blisters."

Attached the the parachute is a note from Mags, which I read silently to myself.

Finnick -

You have many amires. Keep up the good work. You're doing wonderfully.

Love, Mags

I tuck the note in my pocket before joining the others for breakfast. I am the only one who will ever see this note.

A full day passes without any tribute deaths. On the night of the second day, the only face we see in the sky is the girl from Five, Ruthie, who we killed the night before. By the following morning, Antigone is growing agitated.

"Nothing's happening!" She whines. "If something doesn't happen soon, I might have to come after one of you in your sleep!"

I have no doubt that Antigone wouldn't follow through on that promise. I need to make myself useful. While the rest of my alliance goes hunting, I gather grasses, vines, anything I can weave into a snare. Once my allies return, I demonstrate my snares to them.

"It's not enough to kill them, of course," I explain, "but it will be enough to hold them for a while until we can get there. We won't have much time though, especially if the tribute has a weapon available that can cut the net."

"Eh, better than nothing," Antigone admits. She points to Roman, Mariah and I. "Guppy, Romeo, Mermaid, go set them."

The three of us cross the bridge, bringing with us several snares and a few weapons. I set the first one, while Roman and Mariah watch, catching on. The snares are simple, but will do the trick. They are similar to the snares used at home used to catch crabs, lobsters, and other seafood, only hopefully stronger. I don't explain how they work or how I made them, feeling it's a good idea to keep my skill a secret for as long as possible. However, if these snares don't work, they won't need to be kept a secret. I'll be dead within the next day or two. I clear my head of the thought. No, they will work.

We return to camp just as snow begins to fall. The temperature in the arena varies greatly from day to night. During the day, the temperature rises to around eighty, ninety degrees, which I am used to. At night, the temperature dips to below freezing. Being from Four, I am not used to cold weather, and definitely not snow. I almost like the experience.

Almost. Until the blizzard hits. The weather changes so drastically, it cannot be natural. The gamemakers are clearly controlling the weather in hopes to knock off more tributes naturally, which puts Antigone in a sour mood.

"Looks like we can't go outside," Dusk says.

"Well, duh, Vacuous!" Antigone snaps. "Unless you want to freeze to death!"

Dusk mutters something along the lines of "what the hell is vacuous" before crawling into his sleeping bag, while Mariah and I stifle laughs. Mariah suddenly looks annoyed at the fact that the two of us finding the same thing funny, while Merit gives us a disappointed glance, shaking her head slightly. Roman lights lanterns, since it's too wet to light a fire outside, and two dangerous to enclose a flame in the cornucopia. There is also a small, battery powered space heater, which we set near the entrance with someone always on constant watch to make sure it doesn't grow too hot and become a fire hazard. Despite these luxuries, it's going to be a long night. We had better make the most of it.

**Author's note: Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others. Most of the games chapters probably be shorter, to spread out the games longer.  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7: Peace

**Author's note: **

**I have been having a hard time deciding what Finnick's snares look like and how they work, so I ended up deciding that they're similar to the net that trapped Rue in the book. I still don't know how that worked though, so if anyone has any ideas, please let me know.**

**Also, from now on, please excuse Antigone's choice words. :)**

**Chapter 7: Peace**

_Peace is a journey of a thousand miles and it must be taken one step at a time._

_- U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson_

The snow stops a three or four hours after it began, probably an hour or so after midnight. The following morning, it has already begun melting. After we eat a quick breakfast, Antigone divides us up to check my snares. She designates Mariah to be the guard, taking Dusk with her to the south, and sends Merit, Roman, and I north. We haven't even crossed the bridge yet before a distant cannon booms.

"Faster!" Antigone snaps. "There are nine tributes still alive not counting this alliance." As soon as Antigone steps of the bridge, she takes off running, with Dusk having to push past the rest of us and dart after her to avoid getting left behind. After taking a moment to watch the pair disappear from sight, Merit, Roman, and I set off in the other direction at a snail's pace compared to the rate Dusk and Antigone were moving. It seems as though we are taking a stroll through the forest rather than hunting for tributes.

None of us talk. I don't know what we'd talk about if we did. Maybe we'd talk about how it's day four, and only a fourth of the tributes are gone. I can't help but wonder what killed the two tributes whose deaths none of us careers have witnessed. Was it a single tribute that we have to be wary of? Two different, but possibly just as deadly, tributes? Or was it the nature of the arena itself, such as mutts, or even the water that scalded my hand? The only way to find out is to win the games and watch the highlights.

We pass a snare not long after splitting from Antigone and Dusk. It hasn't even been touched. Neither has the second. I become a little nervous, until a few minutes later, when I hear the second cannon of the day. I can only hope that the dead tribute fell prey to one of my snares and was killed by Antigone or Dusk. It feels terrible to say, but when it comes to my life or theirs, I'd rather keep mine.

"Do you think we should keep going?" Merit asks.

I shake my head. "There aren't anymore snares," I reply, but suddenly Roman motions for us to stop. I give him a questioning look, until I hear what has gotten his attention. Someone, a girl, is muttering to herself. I can't make out the words, but she is definitely nearby. Roman pushes a bush aside, and motions us forward. Merit and I move past him to find a tall, older girl. Because her unforgettable interview, I am able to remember her name. It's Elsa, the drug-addicted girl from District Six. She stops her muttering and gives a noticeable, frightened gasp as soon as she sees us.

"Please… just do it quickly, if you're going to kill me," Elsa begs, tears rolling down her face. "Just make it end."

I glance over at Merit. "Are we going to kill her?"

Merit nods. "We don't have a choice. Besides, imagine what the others would do to her if they found her?'

"Who's kill is she?" I ask, feeling like a monster for talking so morbidly, like Elsa is a rabbit caught in a trap about to be killed for dinner or sport.

Merit hesitates. "You can do it. Unless -"

"Really, this shouldn't need to be discussed," Roman interrupts. "I'll do it."

As Roman steps forward, spear in hand, Elsa squeezes her eyes shut, wraps her arms around her knees, and turns her head so that her chin touches her shoulder. In one fluid motion, Roman drives his spear quickly through her heart. Elsa slumps over immediately, and her cannon sounds within seconds. All at once, she is finally at peace. I hope she is, at least. "Let's go," Roman before turning around and heading back the way we came.

"Rest in peace, Elsa," Merit whispers, and I find myself mouthing along.

* * *

><p>"Did you kill anyone?" Mariah asks when we arrive back at the cornucopia. She is alone, with Dusk and Antigone no where to be seen.<p>

"We found the girl from Six, Elsa," I reply. "Roman killed her."

Mariah nods, without saying anymore. Hours pass, and the sun has just started to set by the time Antigone and Dusk return.

"You better have killed someone, if you're this early," Antigone says as she approaches.

Roman nods. "The girl from Six."

Antigone grins. "Finally! It's about time we got her." She turns to face me. "Luckily for you, Guppy, one of your snares worked like a charm. I killed Nine."

"It should have been my kill!" Dusk exclaims bitterly. "You said I could have the first kill we found today!"

"_You _were taking too long!" Antigone snaps. "What kind of idiot tries to cut the net before they kill the tribute?!"

"I wanted to put on a good show," Dusk says calmly as if it were obvious. "I wanted to have a fight that I could win."

"Hmph," Antigone grunts. "Next time I'll let you have your fight, and we'll see who wins. You're just lucky I still need you. That goes for all of you." With that, Antigone storms into the cornucopia, a grenade that could explode at any moment, and likely soon.

* * *

><p>That night, our alliance earns a giant pot as a sponsor gift. Not only that, but inside the pot is hot, creamy chicken wild rice soup for us to share. We take turns sipping the soup straight from the pot, most of us taking our share as we pass it around. A hot meal is a luxury as the temperature becomes frigid. The soup is almost gone by the time the anthem plays. The first face in the sky tonight is Elsa's. Next comes from the boy from Nine. According to Merit, his name is Tucker. He seems to be about my age, maybe a year or two older. Judging by the scowl on his face, I'm guessing he would have gave Dusk a good fight had Antigone let him. The final tribute for the night is Bronco, the twelve year old boy from District Ten. I remember he and his district partner seemed close. She must be devastated. <em>Rest in peace, Tucker and Bronco. Rest in peace, Elsa.<em>

No snow comes tonight, so a fire is built outside the cornucopia. Merit takes first watch, while the rest of us crawl into sleeping bags. I can't sleep though, not when I can't stop thinking about the look of fear in Elsa's eyes slip out of my sleeping bag and join Merit by the fire.

"Hi," I say quietly so I don't wake the others.

"Hello, Finnick," Merit replies. "Are you doing alright?"

I can only manage a shrug. "It's alright," Merit says. "I understand."

We sit in silence for a while before I ask, "Hey, Merit? Why did you volunteer? For the fame and fortune?"

"Not for the fame," Merit replies. "As for the fortune, yes. You see, not everyone in District One is filthy rich. My parents are divorced, and my father wants nothing to do with my mother, my sister, and I. We live in the poorer part of the district, where my mother works long hours sorting precious gems and making jewelry and other luxuries in a factory. She doesn't get a lot of time to spend with my sister and I or paint. She's a wonderful artist. We're not starving like much of the outer districts, mind you, but my mom does struggle to provide for us. I want to win so that she wouldn't have to work so hard and can have time to enjoy the things she loves."

"That's a good reason," I reply earnestly.

"If there is a good reason, I suppose that would be it. What about you?"

"I volunteered for another boy. He's bullied a lot back home, and no one was going to volunteer for him, so I did. It was kind of impulsive."

"That's sweet," Merit says softly. "You know, Finnick, I like you. You're not like the others. Roman is fine, but he's more of a silent type, and I don't know much about him. You have a good heart. You don't belong here."

"You don't think I can win?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Merit shakes her head. "Now, I didn't say that. I think nearly all of us has the potential to win, some more than others. I only meant you don't belong in a fight to the death, not that you don't have the capability to win. Do you understand?"

I nod. "Does anyone really belong here though?"

Merit frowns slightly. "No. No they don't. No one deserves to die at the hands of another tribute, or do to an element they can't control."

"Not even careers?"

"Not even us," She yawns. She's clearly struggling to stay awake.

"You can go to bed. I'll keep watch," I offer.

"Are you sure?"

"Go right ahead."

Merit gets to her feet and pats me gently on the head. "Good night, Finnick."

"Good night," I say, and then I am left alone with only the crackling of the fire to keep me company.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Hopefully that wasn't too short. I'm trying to make the games last until chapter 11 or 12, without having filler chapters.<strong>

**Also, I'm going to start having one or two back-up chapters ready in case there will be a long period of time in which I can't update (ex. when I go on vacation for a week and don't have access to a computer, but I could still update using my phone if I already have an extra chapter uploaded to the docs of FanFiction.) Chapter Eight can be expected later next week (hopefully). **


	8. Chapter 8: Betrayal

**Chapter 8: Betrayal**

_We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal._

- _Tennessee Williams, American 20th century playwright_

On Day Five, a raging thunderstorm rumbles and flashes outside, rain drenching everything for hours on end in a torrential downpour. This is nothing new to me, as Four gets its share of hurricanes and other rain storms. Most of the time, they're bearable, unless of course, a person is stuck in a small shelter with five other restless tributes, three of whom he or she doesn't particularly like. The situation worsens when a single cannon goes off, and Antigone throws a glass jar against the wall in infuriation. As the anthem plays that night, the lost tribute is revealed to be Dixie, the girl from Ten and the last remaining twelve-year-old. The storm dies down slightly, but the temperature drops as usual, and snow begins to fall in place of the rain.

The following day, it's my turn to keep watch over the supplies while the others go tribute hunting. Because no tribute would dare cross the bridge when I'm in plain view, and there is no other way to get to the Cornucopia, there is nothing to do. I sort through the backpacks and take inventory, making sure to leave everything where I found it. I make more snares, using even more sturdy materials. I twiddle my thumbs and gaze up at the clouds, wishing I could float away on them. I check our water supply. It's getting a little low, despite a sponsor sending us a fresh canteen a few days ago. I wonder where the other tributes get their water. Earlier in the games, Merit tried to fill a metal pan with water from the river to put out the fire, and the pan melted as soon as it made contact with the water's toxins. Merit dropped the pan before the water touched her skin. Merit's effort may have seemed useless, but at least no we know no one can try to gather river water and purify it with iodine. I wonder how other tributes get water. Possibly from the precipitation?

The river clearly can't provide water for human survival, but I can't help wondering if it could support sea life. I doubt it, but having nothing else to do, I head over to the river to investigate. I stand a good distance away from the river bank, knowing that if I went closer, or knelt down or sat by the river, I could risk falling in or being pushed in by something I don't even see, and that would be a stupid, preventable, and ironic mistake for a District Four tribute to make. Not daring to move any closer, I peer down into the clear water.

Nothing. No fish, snails, frogs, or even aquatic plants. The only thing that can be seen is an occasional rock. Well, that was a waste of time. Then I look upstream, where tall, reed like plants grow. I curiously stroll over to the plants, plucking one out of the ground. It's strong, yet bendable. I could possibly use this for snares or nets. I pull up a few more reeds before heading back to the cornucopia to wait for my allies.

* * *

><p>The next morning marks the day we have been in the arena for nearly a week. We set out once again, leaving Roman behind today. We may be able to kill more tributes if we travel at night and during the day, but after that first night, we all decided it was too cold and that we could tolerate the heat better than the frigid windchill. Besides, we needed rest.<p>

We stay together at the beginning of the day. A week into the games, and half the tributes still remain. Granted, six of us are in the same alliance, but still, it is clear everyone is fed up with the games. No one talks, not even Merit and I. I see the District One girl as a friend now, despite telling myself I would not trust a single person. However, Merit seems too good of a person to betray us. It could be an act, but I'd like to think better of her.

Up ahead is something none of us have ever seen in this arena before. It's a small, murky pond filled with mud and other muck. The six of us gather around the pond, glancing suspiciously into its sketchy water. "Test it, Loony," Antigone says, glaring at Merit.

"Test it? You mean _drink_ it?!"

Antigone snorts. "Well, I only meant feel it, but if you _want _to drink it, be my guest."

Merit timidly sticks a single finger into the water, and once she realizes it's safe, she submerges her whole hand into the water only to yank it back with a blood-curdling scream. Clamped on to not only her hand, but her entire upper arm, is what appeared to be a young great white shark with short, stubby legs. It's only about four feet long, but its powerful jaws snap Merit's bone with a sickening crunch. Two more shark mutts emerge from the water and clamp on to Merit's legs, causing her to crumble to the ground.

"I'm out of here!" Antigone shrieks, and takes off in the direction we came. Mariah, with a look of sheer terror on her face, follows quickly follows suit. Dusk follows on her tail, and Roman gives Merit a glance of pity before he too turns around.

"Wait," I yell after them. "We have to help Merit!" Not to my surprise, everyone ignores me.

_Stab 'em in the eye! _I am surprised to hear the voice of Peg-leg Mike, an elderly and rumored to be homeless old fisherman with a scruffy white beard and a dirty, mustard-yellow raincoat who roams around District Four telling stories and scaring little kids. Peg-leg Mike was rumored to be attacked by a Great White as a teenager, and only escaped by digging his grimy fingernails into the shark's eyes. That's it!

Taking my spear, I stab the mutt attached to Merit's arm multiple times straight in the eye as my ally screams in agony and terror. The beast lets go and slides back into the pond. Grinning triumphantly, I do the same thing to the other two. However, as soon as they disappear, three more take their place.

"F- Finnick, go!" Merit gasps. "Th-there's just too many!"

"I won't leave you! Just because everyone else betrayed you doesn't mean I will!" I shout, readying my spear.

"Finnick, look at me! Surely you've seen shark attacks before! I can't survive this, not without medical attention."

I glance down, still keeping an eye on the slowly advancing sharks. It's true. Merit's arms and legs are battered and bloody, and bones protrude out at unnatural angles. Her flesh is torn like a badly done filleting job. She's right. These type of injuries are not survivable. Not here. Even at home, limbs are most often unable to be saved. Deep down, I know my effort are pointless. Even if I could kill all the shark mutts, I'd have to drag her back to camp. If she didn't bleed out and die on the way there, Antigone would surely have killed her for being a dead weight to us.

"Finnick… please…"

"I… I'm so sorry," I gasp, tears beginning to spill out of my eyes. Before I can see the mutts tear apart my friend even more, I break into a run in the direction of the Cornucopia. It isn't long before I hear the cannon.

I try to talk, but my voice comes out in a quivering whisper. "R-rest in peace, Merit."

I return to the Cornucopia with moist eyes and a good-sized lump in my throat. As I cross the bridge, everyone looks up expectantly. "I didn't think you'd come back, Guppy," Antigone says with a smirk.

"Well, I did," I reply, not in the mood to talk.

"Aw, did someone have a crush?" She asks.

I ignore her. Today I have learned an important lesson I should have already learned; I can trust no one, especially not my own alliance. In a fight to the death, it's every man for himself. I'll be sure not to forget that again.

* * *

><p>On the morning of Day Eight, we split off into pairs. Mariah takes guard duty, while Antigone and Roman walk North, and Dusk and I walk south. Eventually, Dusk and I come across some berries.<p>

"Hey, these look good," Dusk says, breaking off a branch. "What do you think they are?"

I could be a good person and tell the truth, or I could lie and hope Dusk eats the berries now rather than bring them back with us. Seeing the flaws in the latter plan, I decide to go with the former. "Nightlock."

Dusk laughs as if I told a cheesy joke. "Right… Better not eat them then, eh?" He tosses the bright berries aside and continues on.

"I always knew Merit would be the first to go," Dusk says out of the blue. "She's too soft."

"Sure," I say, shrugging. What else could I say? I'm not in the mood for another "Guppy has a crush" comment.

As we approach the location of one of my snares, we hear voices. Frantic, arguing voices, voices I hoped never to hear in this arena.

"I'm staying!"One of the voices, a girl says stubbornly. "Maybe I can cut you out?"

"With what?" Her companion, another girl asks. " Your dart gun? Because I don't think you'll be able to reach my knives, will you?"

"Hell no she won't!" Dusk shouts and sprints off down the hill we're standing on, alerting the girls to our presence.

"Run Ivy!" Raisin cries, and her ally hesitates before blowing a few darts at Dusk and bolting away.

"Come and get me!" Ivy cries. "I dare you!"

Dusk accepts the challenges and charges after her. Leaving me with a tribute caught in my snare. Not just any tribute, but the cheerful, bubbly girl I talked to during training. I'm now in quite the predicament. I don't want to kill Raisin. She and Ivy had trusted me, at least a little bit, at training, and betraying them would feel like betraying Merit. I think about the consequences if I don't. Antigone or Dusk, or even Mariah could give her a worse death if I set her free. Besides, Dusk would definitely report to Antigone if I let a tribute go, which will earn me a dagger to the head or heart for sure. Whether I'm selfish for worrying about myself, or caring for saving Raisin from a more painful death, I finally make a decision.

I hurry down the hill while Dusk is occupied with Ivy. Raisin struggles in the net a little, looking at me with fear-filled eyes.

"Look," I whisper. "I haven't really made the best choice in alliance. I'm afraid if I let you go, I'll be killed, and my allies would give you a worse death. I'm really sorry." I mean what I say, and can only hope Raisin sees my sincerity.

She hesitates and sighs in defeat. "I understand. I'd do the same thing. Just make it quick. And don't hurt Ivy. Promise me." The look of fear has glazed over into a stern look of determination.

"I promise," I say. I then stab Raisin in the heart, killing her instantly, and feel the guilt wash over me as I hear her canon. I owe her. My instincts tell me I don't owe her anything, but my heart tells me I do.

I head in the direction Ivy and Dusk went in. Maybe I can manage to kill Dusk from behind. He's not that bright after all. What I'd do then, I have no idea. I would consider allying with Ivy, but I doubt she'd want to ally with the person who killed her original ally.

Turns out, I don't have to worry about what I'd do next. Dusk is heading towards me, looking troubled.

"Damn girl ran right over a cliff. Just a little one. But I wasn't going to follow her. I lost my knife to her though. At least I hit her."

"Where?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

"In the arm, near the shoulder. It's not gonna kill 'er, but it's better than nothing. We'll just mention Eleven, not Twelve. You did get Eleven right? I heard a cannon." I nod. "Great! At least we got someone. Come on."

We walk back to camp. If possible I feel even worse than I did yesterday. I just want this to end.

**Author's note: That was a hard chapter to write... And to read too, I bet... Sorry guys. **


	9. Chapter 9: Crazed

**Chapter 9: Crazed**

_Insanity - a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world._

_- R.D. Laing, Scottish psychologist _

Over the next day or so, I become like my male ally from District Two. I don't desire to talk to Dusk or Antigone. Mariah doesn't desire to talk to me. Roman doesn't desire talking to anyone. So, I keep to myself, talking to my allies only to say "pass the rolls, please," or "I'll take first watch tonight," or to ask a question, or reply to others when they speak to me first. I have little in common with my allies, anyway. The only similarity that comes to mind is that, like them, I just want the games to be over and done with.

Roman volunteers to stay back from hunting on Day 9. Today I am summoned by Antigone, while Dusk and Mariah are sent in the opposite direction.

"So Guppy, why haven't more tributes gotten stuck in your traps?" Antigone asks as we walk. "So far there's only been two."

I shrug, hesitating slightly before I answer. "I don't know. They'd have to step right in the traps in order to be caught. Maybe they just don't come this way."

Antigone scowls. "Fine. I just don't understand how this arena could be so large as to keep the tributes hidden for us."

I shrug again in response, and Antigone does not attempt to make conversation. As the day passes, we have no luck. Finally, Antigone gets tired of trekking through the woods without any result, so we head back.

We meet up with Mariah and Dusk as the bridge comes into view. "Hey Four, these are blackberries, right?" Dusk asks. "Your district partner won't tell me."

I glance at Mariah, who is either ignoring us or simply not paying attention. Then I take a look at the berries in Dusk's hands. They _look _like blackberries, but I don't have the bush to look at to be sure. Besides, I'm no plant expert. I just happen to know how to recognize nightlock and other common berries. I don't trust my instincts enough to eat any kind of berry I find in here. "I think so," I tell Dusk. "I'm not one hundred percent sure though, so eat them at your own risk."

Dusk shrugs, accepting this answer, and the girls don't seem to have a comment either way. In fact, Antigone seems as though she couldn't care less. "Enough about berries," Antigone snaps. "Mermaid, have you killed any tributes since the bloodbath?"

Mariah bites her lip and shifts her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "No…"

"Exactly! We need more focus, you especially! I've killed several. Romeo killed one, and Vacuous _tried _to kill one before I claimed him myself. Even _Guppy_ got one, and he's thirteen!"

"I'm fourteen, actually," I mutter, realizing a second too late that correcting Antigone will not help me in the slightest. However, Antigone and Mariah both ignore me.

"Can you even kill when you're not full of adrenaline?" Antigone asks.

"Of course I can," Mariah says. Her voice is calm, but the gleam in her eyes says otherwise as she glances between Antigone and I. I assume she does not like having her skills seem inferior to anyone else's, especially mine. "I'll prove it to you. Let me kill the next tribute we see."

Antigone shrugs. "Fine. Be my guest. As long as tributes die, and quickly, I'm happy."

We cross the bridge and eat jerky and rolls for dinner. It's neither raining nor snowing tonight, so we build a fire and gather around it.

"There are five tributes out there, other than ourselves," Antigone says, pacing back and forth in a semicircle around the far edge of the fire. "Half of the remaining ten tributes are in this alliance. So, where are the others hiding?"

"Maybe we need to change our strategy," Mariah mutters.

Antigone glares at her. "Yeah? And what do you propose we do?"

Mariah shrugs, and we pass around various ideas, from spiliting up and heading out alone - which is shot down since we don't know if there are any alliances out there - to hunting at night. No one can agree on anything, so in the end, we decide to stick with our original plan.

Dusk, who had previously been tossing his berries into his mouth, has suddenly gone pale. When he stands up, he wobbles slightly, and his words come out in a slur. "I don't feeeel so hot, guuuuuys. I'm go-gonnaaa go to bed."

As Dusk stumbles into the Cornucopia, the rest of us glance at each other and shrug.

"Hey, maybe he'll die," says Antigone.

"Let's hope so," Mariah mutters in response.

Either Dusk doesn't hear them, or he's not making an effort to fight back. The rest of us stay gathered around the campfire for an hour or so longer. Around the time my eyelids begin to droop, Roman decides to settle in for the night. Mariah offers to take first watch, so Antigone and I follow Roman into the Cornucopia.

As I make my way to my sleeping bag, I glimpse over at Dusk as I pass. He looks even worse than he did when he first stumbled into the Cornucopia. His face is bright red instead of pale, and tiny beads of sweat trickle down his face like drops of condensation on a water glass on a ninety degree day. He is asleep, but is restless, tossing back and forth in his sleeping bag and moaning softly.

Maybe those berries didn't agree with him after all.

* * *

><p>It seems as though I have only been asleep for fifteen or twenty minutes when I hear a scream of rage. "Mutt!"<p>

My eyes fly open immediately, and I jolt upright just in time to see Dusk's mace smash into my district partner's skull. A cannon is set off, and Mariah slumps over, her body just barely missing the still burning fire. Roman, who is closest to the mouth of the Cornucopia is on his feet in an instant. Using his sword, he deflects any blow Dusk attempts to make at him. Antigone leaps out of her sleeping bag as well, a backpack near her feet and her knives at the ready. The campfire illuminates her face, making her expression clear and readable. Her lips are turned into a wicked smile, and her eyes seem to gleam with excitement. She is obviously enjoying this battle, the inevitable deterioration of the career pack, and she doesn't even has to get her hands dirty. I quickly realize that I am at a disadvantage while sitting down, so I scramble to my feet, slinging a backpack over my shoulder and readying my spear as I do so.

Meanwhile, Dusk and Roman are still engaged in battle. Dusk is slow and stumbles as if he's under the influence of a drug. Maybe he is. Maybe the berries have an intoxicating effect and cause hallucinations. They must, since I don't see any other reason why Dusk would lash out like this. Something is definitely off.

Suddenly, Roman takes one false step backwards. Carelessly stumbling over a rock, his leg twist in an unnatural direction, and gasping in pain and surprise, the boy from Two topples to the ground. Dusk takes the opportunity to make his move, swing his mace towards Roman's head. He misses, but the mace still hits a mark that is just as deadly... Roman's throat. A second cannon booms as blood gushes out of Roman's neck.

While Dusk is occupied, I attempt to sneak past him. Unfortunately, I'm not quick enough, and Dusk turns his attention to me. From the sideline, I can hear Antigone chuckle. "See you losers," she mutters and darts away, apparently bored with the fight. Screw her, then. I definitely didn't expect her to stay around, but saving her own ass seems like a cowardly act to me. I shrug it off, and focus on the task at hand.

Dusk's energy seems to be draining quickly, and he stumbles even more now. "Mutt! I'm gonna kill you!" He barks angrily. His eyes are dark and wild, as if the pupil has expanded and drowned out everything else. He's not right in the head. Crazed, I'd say. He swings his mace, desperately trying to hit me. My fisherman's reflects are fast, though, and I block his attempts by twisting my spear left and right in the way of the mace. Once, I am caught off-guard, as the mace gazes my right arm only slightly. I grit my teeth in pain and scramble backwards. Dusk's depth perception must be off, because he suddenly appears to be confused. I take advantage of his bewilderment to go on the offense and plunge my spear into Dusk's stomach.

Dusk crumbles to his knees, mace still in hand and peers down at the spear in shock. I now have two choices. I could run and hope I find a new weapon either from another tribute, my pack, or a sponsor, or I could risk my life for a simple spear.

I choice the former. I run. I run until I reach the bridge, at which pace I slow down to take in my surroundings. Squinting in the darkness, I think I can see a dark shape slipping into the treeline to the south. Antigone. If my eyes aren't betraying me, that means I should head as far north as I can.

I cross the bridge with great caution, not wanting to misstep and fall into the river below. As soon as my foot touches the gravelly soil on the other side, I'm off at a run again. Not wanting to go too far in the dark, I run a few hundred yards in, before collapsing in an exhausted heap.

It is only then that I realize just how cold it is. I shiver slightly, unzipping my backpack, first finding a t-shirt to tie around my injured arm. Then I feel around inside for something warm. Finally I feel something that may be of use. I pull out a tightly rolled, soft material. Unraveling it and feeling with my hands, I can tell I'm holding a blanket, made out of some sort of soft material. Well, this is better than nothing, since I already have a jacket. Besides, it's not as cold tonight as it has been. If the other tributes are able to survive the cold, so can I. I can go through the rest of my pack and figure out my next move tomorrow. Right now, I'm going to focus on getting some rest.

* * *

><p>I wake up to sunlight flooding in through the trees. I yawn, stretching a little. The blanket worked well last night. I don't think I ever was comfortable enough to fall into a deep sleep, but the blanket did its job of keeping me alive. Reaching for my pack, I pull the zipper and begin rummaging through it, taking items out one at a time and taking inventory. There is a bag of dried fruit and nuts, a bag of beef jerky, an empty water bottle, a day or two's worth of iodine, a tiny pair of binoculars, and three knives. Knives will work. I'm better with spears and the best with tridents, but knives will get the job done just as easily.<p>

I am just about to stand up and take in my surroundings when I hear a recognizable sound. It's a parachute, and a very long one at that. It hit the ground with a klunk, suggesting whatever is inside is made of metal. Curiously, I walk over to the parachute and begin to untie the knots. When I see the parachutes contents, I nearly drop my gift in shock.

It's a trident! Not just any trident, but a gorgeous, gold plated trident, probably the fanciest I've ever seen. I can't even imagination how much it must have cost! I pick the weapon up gently, turn it over in my hands in amazement. "This is incredible!" I cry, laughing gleefully. At the moment, I am so overjoyed, I don't care who hears me.

"Thank you, Mags," I say, a bit quieter this time. "And thank you, Mr. or Ms. Sponsor. I won't let you down."

**Author's note: The fight scene was written at eleven at night, so hopefully you can't tell. :) And this chapter is over 2,000 words again, which is good. A reader asked when Finnick would be getting his trident, and here it is. Seven more tributes are remaining which means only two chapters left of the games! Never fear though, many chapters are to come!**

**Expect chapter 10 middle to late next week. It's all ready to go, so it depends how busy I am and how fast you guys get done with this chapter. :)**


	10. Chapter 10: Feast

**Chapter 10: Feast**

"_Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much" _

_- Helen Keller_

As if the trident wasn't enough, I realize there is still another gift left in the bottom of the parachute. A net. Not a cheap net like the ones I've managed to weave together out of grasses and reeds, but a real net, most likely the product of my home district. Even after I discard the empty parachutes, my sponsors still don't seem to be done. Through out the morning, I receive a new full water bottle as well as healing salve and bandages for my arm. Last night I tied a t-shirt around my injury as a bandage, but during the night, blood had soaked through. The wound stings more irritably than painfully, but the more I more my arm, the more it hurts. The healing salve and official bandages are accepted with gratitude. Capitol medicine is really incredible; I should be good as new in no time.

After applying the salve and wrapping up my wound, I take time to reflect on the remaining tributes. There's seven of us. I vaguely remember hearing a cannon as I was running last night. I can only assume it was Dusk's. Besides myself, there is Antigone, the girl from three, both from seven, the boy from eight, and Ivy. I decide I currently have three main goals. The first, avoid Antigone at all costs. She is the tribute I'm most concerned about, since I have little idea what to expect from the other tributes besides Ivy. All I know about these tributes is that the boy from Seven received a nine in training, the boy from Eight and Ivy earned sevens, and the girls from Three and Seven both have sixes. Antigone has a ten like I do, and I've seen what she's capable of.

My second goal is to kill any tributes I come across before they kill me. That is easier said than done though. The other tributes probably know the arena better than I do, putting me at a disadvantage. I could check my snares, but Antigone knows where they are, and could be at any one of them, waiting for me. I think the best solution would be to gather the snares, and reset them in different locations. It's doubtful I could trick Antigone into getting caught in one, but at least she would no longer know where they were.

I tightly squish all my supplies into the backpack and head out. I have four snares in all, and I want to gather and relocate each one of them as quickly as possible. I am careful and vigilant, examined each area carefully before swooping in and unsetting my snares. All goes well, and I don't run into any other tributes. As I approach the third snare, I realize I'm in for a surprise.

"Come on," the voice of a panicked girl is muttering to herself. Peering around a bush, I see the girl from Seven has been ensnared in my net. She appears to be alone, and is trying without any success to reach a dull, rusty knife attached to her backpack. Unfortunately, the net make it impossible for her to twist completely around to grab hold of it. "How could I be so _stupid_?"

Although I doubt this girl has any, I look around for any possible allies before stepping out from behind the bush. The girl's eyes widen as soon as she sees me, and tears begin to form. She can't be older than fifteen. My age, maybe a little older.

"No, please," she begs. To some of my former allies, this begging would only egg them on. As for me, the best I can do is try to ignore it. The girl pauses, and I can assume she's trying to think of a quick, last minute plan. "Y-you'll regret this! Hawk! Hawk, help!"

Hawk? It takes me a moment to remember Hawk is the name of her district partner. I hesitate, wondering if he's close by. I shake my head. I'm just wasting time. Hawk is probably no where near here, and if he were, his district partner would have called him sooner, wouldn't she? And even if he _is _here, that's all the more reason to kill quickly and move on. Maneuvering the trident with ease, I stab the girl directly in the heart. Then I run. I can come back for that snare later.

By the time I find my last snare and to reset all of them in new locations, I have a few hours of daylight left. Now what? I take a sip of my water, plotting my next move. As I ponder, I remember seeing large cliff that overlooks the river. You could probably see the whole arena from there, or at least the canopy of the trees. At the least, I can figure out how big this arena really is. I have a destination.

My plan sees flawless, until I climb nearly all the way to the top of the cliff and hear voices.

"-can't help but wonder if it's her," a boy is saying.

"We could have gone to find her, you know. In fact, it's not too late," a girl replies. It's not Ivy, and it's certainly not Antigone, so the only possibility is the girl from Three.

There's a short pause before the boy replies. "No," he sighs. "I told you, it will be harder that way."

From context, I can only guess the boy is from Seven, and not Eight. These two are definitely allies, an alliance I hope will break up before I come across them. I'm outnumbered two to one. Attacking now would be suicide. Even if I did manage to kill one of them, the other would almost certainly do me in. The best option is to hightail it out of there. This cliff is taken, but that doesn't mean I haven't gained valuable information. Mission accomplished, if in a different sense than originally planned.

Mags sends me more soup once I settle down. It is a simple beef broth this time, but I'm thankful for hot food any day. Four faces appear in the sky tonight. Dusk. Roman. Mariah. The girl from Seven. I wish I had Merit here to tell me her name. I feel bad for not knowing it. The anthem ends, and the forest returns to darkness, but I don't try to sleep. With an alliance of two and Antigone both out there somewhere, I'm a little on edge.

Sleep must come eventually though, because I wake up to a booming, echoing voice. I jolt upright, at first thinking Hawk and his ally have found me. I relax only when I realize it is only the famous announcer, Claudius Templesmith.

"- tributes!" he is saying when I start paying attention. "Congratulations on making it to the top six! The Capitol and your districts are extremely proud of each and every one of you. I would like to invite you all to a feast held near the Cornucopia at sunrise tomorrow. This feast is not mandatory, but highly encouraged. Each of you will find a backpack with your district number on it. Inside, you will either find a necessity or a luxury depending on your current well-being. Participation is strongly encouraged, or else you may regret your decision. Best of luck to you all, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

So that's it. A feast. Thanks to my sponsors, there isn't anything I really need. But skipping the feast would be deadly. I guess I'll just go somewhere where I can watch and wait for the right opportunity.

* * *

><p>Around the crack of dawn, I stake out a spot in the treeline overlooking the Cornucopia. I'm surprised to see a wider, more stable looking metal bridge has taken the place of the rickety swinging bridge we previously had to put up with. The bridge is wide enough for a fifteen-feet-or-so long table to stretch across it with several feet on several sides. The bridge has rallings, but it would be easy to simply push a tribute over the edge. I don't know what the outcome of the feast will be, but I'm not going to be the first one there.<p>

The girl from Three, to my surprise, is the first one across. Where is Hawk? With her back turned towards me, she begins to eat some of the delicacies. Before I can begin to wonder what she's doing, Antigone creeps out of the trees, moving efficiently but silently. Honestly, she looks terrible. Her hair is even more of a tangled mess, and her arms and neck are cover in an angry red rash, as if she rolled in a patch of poison ivy. On her tail, Hawk begins to stalk her. All of the pieces suddenly fall into place. This must be an ambush. If I wanted to, I could probably save her, but hen I was fighting with Dusk, she made no move to help. Why risk my live for someone who would not return the favor?

Just as Antigone raises her knife, about to throw, Hawk hoots like an owl, and his ally dives under the table just in time to miss getting hit by Antigone's knife. Antigone whips around to face Hawk, reaching for a knife a second too late. Before she can fully react, Hawk's machete is buried deep in her chest. She falls, an expression of pure shock etched on her face as her cannon booms.

I'm shocked, too. Antigone was a highly trained career. She was so focused on killed what she believed to be a foolish tribute, that she had failed to pay attention to all sides around her. She was the foolish one. I was sure she would have known better.

Hawk runs to the girl from Three, who has crawled out from under the table, and high-fives her. They stand around for a while, looking around them and talking, although they're too far away for me to hear a word they're saying. Hawk takes his machete out from Antigone's corpse and wipes it clean. The pair seem to be waiting for more tributes, but there's no way Ivy, the boy from Eight, or I will go charging in where two tributes are at the ready, even if Eight and Ivy are in the area. Soon, the tributes from Three and Seven seem to realize waiting is pointless. Hawk stands up, picks up the District Seven pack, and shakes his ally's hand before turning around and dashing off in the opposite direction. The girl stares after him for a moment, twirling her knife in her hand, as if contemplating whether or not to literally stab him in the back. Then she takes her pack and takes off too, but in a different direction.

It's quiet for a while. Then Ivy jogs out. I have a feeling she'd be running, but she's paler than when I last saw her, and her teeth are gritted in pain. Turns out she was not far from me at all. Ivy swipes her pack and is back across the bridge in a flash, not touching the food. She then heads for the trees, coming close to me, so close, I could toss my net out and spear here with my trident, but I don't. I owe her. I owe Raisin. Just this once. Maybe I can't afford to be selective, but I can't kill her.

As she disappears, I debate whether or not I want to grab my pack. Before I am able to decide, the boy from Eight dashes for the feast. He's seemed to have lost weight, and I'm guessing he hasn't eaten much these past twelve days. He picks up a few pieces of food, then his pack. He hesitates, then reaches down to pluck a second pack up from the table. _My _pack.

For some reason, I'm irritated. I may not need whatever is in that pack, but I feel like I've been stolen from, and that does not settle well. So when the boy rushes straight towards me, I don't hesitate to throw out my net out. It encloses the boy, and he falls to the ground. Quickly, I make the kill and snatch up the District Four backpack. As I retreat deeper into the forest, I can't help feeling sick when I realize I was thinking of how easy that was. When did I begin thinking like a killer?

**Author's note: This chapter is up earlier than expected, but I have much better reception in the car than in the cabin I'm at, so I'm taking advantage while I can. Since there are four tributes left, next chapter is the last 65th games chapter. :)**

**Who do you think will be in the finale with Finnick? Who do you want him to battle?**


	11. Chapter 11: Victory

**Chapter 11: Victory **

_Victory is always possible for the person who refuses to stop fighting._

_- Napoleon Hill, author_

Day Thirteen comes and goes. Then Day Fourteen. No cannons. No deaths. The Capitol is probably getting restless. To be honest, so am I. Five of us are left, and no one has died since the feast. It seems no one wants to seek out the rest of the tributes, at least not quite yet. Then, as the sun begins to peak over the trees on the morning of the fifteenth day, the bitter-sweet sound of a cannon echos through the forest. Who was it? How did they die? I probably won't know until I see the highlights.

Since I'm alone, I have plenty of time to think. I try to decide who I'd rather face in the finale. Killing Ivy would be a moral struggle, because killing someone I've had a light-hearted conversation with, someone who I could have been friends with under different circumstances is even harder to think about than killing a complete stranger. The girl from Three's intelligence would present a mental challenge, while Hawk's strength would provide more of a physical one. Of course, ideally I would have to fight none of them, and that after the third-place tribute was killed, the runner-up would simply bleed out before they could get to me. Unfortunately, the odds of me not having to kill another tribute are unlikely.

Feeling as though I should be doing something, I wander around checking my snares. Nothing. None of them have moved a centimeter, and they probably won't if the tributes have made it this far, but I double check them anyway. I do so shirtless, with only a pair of shorts covering me. Everything I do in this arena is to put on a good show in the Capitol. Entertainment is my motivation behind most of my actions lately. That, and survival.

Towards sunset, a second cannon is set off. Two left. The finale could happen any moment. I gaze around nervously, seeking out my opponent. Every cracking stick, every slinking shadow, every whistling breeze makes me jump. The sun sets and the anthem begins to play. Here is the moment of truth.

The girl from Three appears first, followed by Ivy. I shiver as the sky fades back into darkness. It's too dark to search the last remaining tribute, and I can only hope he feels the same.

Soon, everything I've trained through, flirted through, acted through, and fought through will end at a central point. Soon, I will become either a hero to some and a villain to others, or simply just another forgotten face, existing only in the memories of my love ones. Soon the world will see if a fourteen-year-old boy from District Four has what it takes. Soon, Panem will know for certain if Finnick Odair is more than just a pretty face. Soon, most likely tomorrow, I will face Hawk, a boy from Seven three or four years my senior in the most important, decisive battle of my life.

* * *

><p>After a night of very little sleep, I head to the Cornucopia at dawn. If Hawk's not there, I can check the hill where he and his ally had their camp. The Capitol won't let the two of us wander around forever. If we're no where near each other, they'll surely have mutts or another force of nature drive us together. The finale will come, and soon. Panem is eager for their victor, and Snow and the Gamemakers will not likely keep them waiting for long.<p>

With my net and trident in hand, I slink out from the bushes. Hawk is nowhere in sight. While the feast table has been removed, the wide bridge is still in place. I slowly make my way across the bridge, pivoting my head in every direction as I search for Hawk. The Cornucopia will, if nothing else, be a good vantage point or hiding place.

I stop in my tracks when I hear a crackle of dead leaves that seems to be coming from the cornucopia. Someone is inside. The thought has barely entered my mind when Hawk jumps out of the cornucopia, his machete swinging out in front of him. He's quick, but I'm just as speedy, and the side of my trident makes contact with his machete.

"You may be a career, Four, but don't forget, I'm older and stronger than you, and I'm not going down without a fight."

"Good," I reply, defending against every move he makes and trying with little success to switch to the offensive side. "Let's give the Capitol what they want. A good fight. That's the whole point, anyway, right?" I don't know where the words come from, just that they're for the cameras only.

Hawk grunts, and continues to try to get a slice out of me. I make jabs at him with my trident, and while I don't break any skin, I do realize my opponent has a bad habit. Each time I aim my trident at Hawks guts, he takes a step backward, enabling me to gradually push him closer and closer to the cliff. We make moves at each, moving a few feet closer to the edge of the cliff. Hawk doesn't seem to notice that he's in danger of tumbling backwards to his death. Eventually, I manage to stab him in the shoulder just an inch or two from his heart, while Hawk has nearly severed off my left hand, which is sliced almost to the bone and bleeding heavily. We are only about five feet away from the cliff face now. I quickly stretch out my net, which until now has been bunched up in my hand at the end of the trident.

"A net? What do you plan to do with that? Trap me like a fish?" He tries to slice it with the machete, but slips on some loose gravel. Before he can regain his balance, I toss the net over him. He tries to escape, but is already tangled, and he almost topples over in his effort to break free. The older boy's eyes flicker to me in panic, and I send the final blow before I have a chance to even think about my actions. Hawk falls, and probably would have tumbled off the cliff and into the poisonous lagoon below had I not caught the end of the net and dragged his body back up the cliff. Since I destroyed his family and friends' hopes of Hawk coming home, the least I can do is ensure they can have a proper burial. Hawk is not light, but with much effort, I pull him to the top of the cliff. After pulling him a safe distance away from the cliff, I collapse in the grass beside him, the voice of Claudius Templesmith ringing in my ear.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the victor of the Sixty-fifth Annual Hunger Games, Mr. Finnick Odair of District Four!"

* * *

><p><strong>Mags<strong>

When a tribute dies in the arena, I very rarely shed a tear. I am not being cold-hearted; I simply prepare myself for the death, knowing that chances are, I will not be able to save the said tribute. When a tribute returns from the arena, I do not cry either. Instead, I prepare for a reunion, knowing that my job as a mentor is not over simply because the tribute has left the arena. However, as Finnick is lifted into the hovercraft with his eyes closed and an almost peaceful expression, a few tears actually do slip from my eyes. I suppose it's because Finnick is no ordinary tribute. Finnick is family.

Some of the other victors congratulate me, and I politely thank them. A few others, especially Blight of District Seven, cannot hide the disappointment from their faces. I have more important matters to worry about however. I have little time to spare. The hovercraft should be arriving any minute, and then Finnick while be taken by doctors and cosmetic surgeons to an infirmary, where they will patch him up and "make him pretty again" for his upcoming victory interview. I am not allowed to see him until everything is taken care of, but I do have a say in what they can and cannot do to his body, and I need to be there for him.

By the time I arrive, Finnick is just being wheeled in on a gurney, fast asleep. He's a bit scratched up and bruised, but the worse injury is the slice on his wrist. The doctors lock me out, and not even a window gives me a clue as to what's going on. Finally, I am let into the room. The doctors leave, shutting the door behind them.

I gently take Finnick's hand, waiting for him to wake up. As I do, dozens of memories flood my head. Finnick as a newborn, in my arms as my cousin Ariella's first grandchild. Finnick in the bathtub at eighteen months, pushing a rubber duck under the surface and giggling madly as it pops back up again. Finnick at three, proudly holding up his first fish. Finnick at six, parading around after his father with admiration in his eyes. Finnick at eight, discovering he has a talent with tridents. Finnick at eleven, developing his first serious crush on a girl. And finally, Finnick at fourteen, flirting with the capitol, and stealing their hearts. Fourteen years of sweet memories, with plenty more to come.

Eventually, Finnick opens his eyes, blinking around groggily. "Mags?"

"I'm right here, Finnick," I reply. "Right here." As I always will be.

* * *

><p><strong>Finnick<strong>

"I told them! I told my friends you would be the victor!" Augustus exclaims as he preps me for my interview. He and my prep team have been fussing over me ever since I entered the room. "But did they listen? No! They said you were just a heartthrob! But I was right, wasn't I, Finnick?"

"Only partically," I reply, putting on a fake smirk.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I _am _the victor," I say, "but I'm also very much a heartthrob."

Augustus laughs. "That you are, Finnick. That you are."

I'm not sure who's most happy to see me, my prep team, Caesar Flickerman, or the hundreds of Capitolites in the audience who scream my name and clap wildly as I walk across the stage and sit across from the colorful interviewer.

"Finnick!" Caesar exclaims bubbly. "We are so happy to have you back tonight!"

I smile at the crowd. "I'm happy too. I missed you all," I say, putting on a seductive purr almost with ease.

"Good," Caesar replied. "So, that finale! So incredible! What were your thoughts as you were crowned victor?"

"Relief," I respond after a moment. "Relief that I would be coming home to all of these lovely people as their victor."

"And we're glad you're here. Now, what did you think of the arena? It was a deadly one, wasn't it? In fact, your hand was even burned by the river?"

I nod. "It was. Usually clear water means it's safe, so I was expecting that at all. The arena was very beautiful though," I say honestly. "My compliments to the designer."

The crowd applauds, and the camera zooms in on a main with pale yellow hair, who bows.

"And what about the berries? The genetically engineered ones that your ally, Dusk, ate?"

"That was a shame," I say softly. "I'm lucky to be alive."

Caesar nods. "Now, on to his district partner, Merit. Describe your relationship with her."

I hesitate, choosing the right words. "I think I might have bonded with her the most out of all my allies. In another world, we probably would have been friends."

Caesar gives me a sad smile. "Ah, yes, Merit was a fan favorite. Other favorites, besides yourself, included Rayanne of District Eleven and Ivy of District Twelve. I see you kept your promise not to harm Ivy."

"I tried Caesar. I'm glad I didn't meet up with her during the finale."

Caesar nods. "Understandable. Were you surprised at all by your finale opponent?"

"No," I reply. "Not at all. Hawk was skilled. I'll admit he was tough to beat."

"He was a good competitor, certainly," Caesar says. "Now, I'm sure your proudest moment was receiving your trident. I'm sure we'd all love to hear about it."

A genuine smile lights up my face. "I was amazed, really. I couldn't believe I had received such a special gift." I turn to the audience. "I'd like to thank the sponsor who sent me such a treasure. You hold a special place in my heart."

Many audience members cheer in swoon, and it takes a moment for Caesar to reign them back in. "Well, you definitely showed your skills in there. I, for one, am impressed. Anyone else?"

More cheers. Once the crowd quiets down, I thank Caesar, who smiles back at me. "You're very welcome. And now, let's roll the highlights."

I look at the screen as the bloodbath plays, trying to think of anything else but what is being shown. I even glance away as I make my first kill. I then watch as the river scalds my hand, rubbing it nervously as if it is still injured. The boy from Three is even worse off than I am. He bends over and takes a big gulp of river water, and then screams in agony, the water undoubtedly burning him from the inside out. Then I see the death of the girl from Five. The boy from Ten is killed by an eagle mutt, while the boy from Nine is killed by Antigone, and Elsa from Six is killed by Roman. The girl from Ten succumbs to the the bitter cold. I can't bear to watch as Merit is torn apart by the shark mutts, and don't look up again until I'm sure it's safe. But not longer after I do, I look away again as I murder Raisin. Dusk goes insane, and the battle between him and my allies is shown. Afterwards, I kill the girl from Seven, and the feast is held. I find out the girl from Three died in forth place, and jumped off the cliff to avoiding being mauled by moutain lion mutts. Then, Ivy is bitten by a poisonous snake, and writhes in pain for what seems like only ten seconds, but I'm sure was really several hours in the arena. Maybe she would have been better off if I had killed her. It would have a least been less painful. Finally, Hawk is killed, and the screen turns black.

As President Snow places the victor's crown on my head, he stares at me with his cold, calculating blue eyes, and I shudder involuntarily. Then, he steps aside and the applause and cheers is deafening, drowning out any other noise. When the roar dies down, Caesar gets to his feet, places one hand on my shoulder, and raises the other in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, your victor! Mr. Finnick Odair!"

**Author: I finally got a chapter out to you guys! Yay! I hope you enjoyed it. **


	12. Chapter 12: Home

**Author's note: I'm sorry for the short delay. I've been editing my Finnick/Annie story, **_**Wipe Away the Tears**_ **so that it coincides better with this one. I'm not done yet, but I thought I should update.**

**Chapter 12: Home**

_Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts._

_- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., __physician, poet, professor, lecturer, and author _

The train cruises along the track at high speed as I listen to Chauncey Eugene Katz drone on and on about what a great "retirement present" my victory, as if I won for him.

"It's really nice to go out with a bang, lad. You have no idea how much your victory means to me! It's by far going to be my most well-known!"

Eventually, I stop listening to Chauncey's gloating. The elderly escort seems to realize I am not interested, and goes to the dining car for a glass of wine with his dogs prancing along behind him, leaving me alone with Mags.

"What's it like?" I ask Mags.

"What do you mean?"

"What's it like coming home as a victor?" I clarify. "Did anything… change?"

Mags gives me a stern look. "Of course it did. You know that, Finnick. Don't you? Even now, your life isn't the same as before you entered the arena, correct?"

I nod. "Yeah, but… I was just hoping it wouldn't be too bad, you know? That my parents and friends will still think of me as me and not… a monster."

"Finnick, your parents love you, and they will always see you as their son, not as a tribute in the games, and I assume your friends will be the same."

"But I killed people," I mutter, twisting around to rest my chin on the back of the couch and stare out the window. "Five of them." Every since I came out of the arena, the five tributes I've murdered will not come out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, images of each of them resurfaces. Sometimes they even invade my dreams. As much as I dread it, I know this will now be the norm, and the guilt is overwhelming.

Mags startles me by taking me firmly by the shoulders. "Finnick, listen to me. I know you will never forget what happened in that arena. To this day I am _still _haunted by my games. But I have learned to accept the past and moved on to the present and the future. Your parents knew when you entered the games that twenty-three other children would have to die, some by your hand, if they wanted you home, but they love you, and will never see you as anything but their son. Do you understand me?"

I nod, but continue to stare out the window. I always knew a victor's life was drastically changed after the games, but I didn't know how much. I have no idea what will happen when the train pulls into the station of District Four.

* * *

><p>Since Marissa, Four's most recent victor, won when I was seven years old, I don't remember much about the homecoming from her games. I certainly don't remember hundreds of people lined up and down the boardwalks just outside the District Four train station. Being a career district the cheers and applause I receive as I step off the train is enthusiastic. Strangers congratulate me, and to them, I'm the latest district hero. I smile and wave for the sake of the cameras. Even though I'm back home, I still have an image to keep up.<p>

Fortunately, my image is not that of a tough guy, because before I know it, my sobbing mother has encased me in a hug. "Oh, Finnick," she exclaim, "We've missed you so much! I'm so glad you're home!"

I smile, happy to be back in my mother's arms, unlike a year ago, when I would have been horribly embarrassed if she hugged me in public. I'm never taking her hugs for granted again.

"Alright, Merry, let Finn go for a minute. It's my turn," my dad teases, embracing me and clapping me on the back gently. "There's my boy! It's good to have you home again."

"Thanks," I say to both of my parents. "I'm glad to be back too, trust me."

Behind us, Chauncey clears his throat. "It's wonderful to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Odair, but I'm on a rather tight schedule. Would you mind if I show you the way to your new home?"

"Of course not," says Dad, "lead the way."

Chauncey gently pushes his way through the crowd, his smallest poodle cradled under the crook of his arm. The other two dogs trot along gleefully. Behind us are my parents, Mags, and Marissa. As we walk, a little boy about three or four years old, his hands sticky from the melting ice cream cone in his hand, reaches down to pet Stanley.

"Oh, no you don't!" Chauncey snaps, snatching Stanley up into his arms, causing a frenzy of barking from the two smallest poodles. "My groomer just gave him a luxury oatmeal bath and pedicure and I do not want your grimy hands all over him!"

Tears well up in the boy's eyes, and his mother sweeps him into her arms as fast as Chauncey picked up Stanley. "What's the matter with you?! He's just a child!"

Chauncey bites his lip, hesitating. "Well... I suppose it's alright…"

But the mother is gone, carrying her son away from the crowd. Chauncey sighs. "I suppose I'm still not used to the customs in the districts."

We continue on to Victor's Village, a group of twenty house circling a peninsula. Each house is nearly identical, white in color and the same size, but each one has a different color roof and trim.

"This is it," Chauncey announces gleefully. "Any one of these houses, excluding those with names on the mailboxes, are available. Say the word, and it's yours."

I glance around, considering my options. I spot Mags's house right away, the one with the sunny yellow shingles, trimming, and shutters. The one directly to the right of it is surprisingly vacant. It's secondary color is a dark forest green, and I know it's the one for me. Besides, having Mags right next door in case I need her will be a definite plus. "I want number three," I say, pointing to the house.

"Number three is it!" Chauncey says, swing open the gate of the little white picket fence that surround the fence. Marissa waves goodbye and heads to her own home across the street, where her fiance is sitting outside, waiting for her. The rest of follow Chauncey to the front door. He unlocks it, ushering us inside.

"Enjoy it. I'd like to stay and chat, but I have to run," Chauncey says before turning to me. "Farewell, lad. Congratulations once again, and I hope you enjoy your victory. I'll see you in six months time, alright?"

I nod politely. "Thanks, Chauncey. See you soon."

The old escort pats my back fondly before turning back down the path towards the train station.

"Well, then," says Mags. "Should I give you the grand tour. "All houses in Victor's Village have the same layout.

"Sure," I reply, smiling gratefully.

Mags leads us through the various rooms, pointing out all of the house's features. It's nice, but huge. I have no idea what to do with all the space.

"You guys are moving in too, right?" I ask my parents.

"Of course Finnick!" Mom exclaims. "You think I'm letting my fourteen-year-old son fend for himself? I don't care if you're a victor, Finn, I'm still living with you until you're of age!"

"But what about the house? You won't sell it, will you?" The Odair family home was built by my great-great-grandfather back when District Four was first established. It's settled on a cliff, in a neighborhood where only District Four's richest reside. I would hate to see my childhood home fall out of my family's possession.

Dad shakes his head. "No, never," he replies. "I was thinking I could let workers borrow it if they're ever in need. Then, once you get sick of us, find a pretty girl, want your privacy, your mother and I could move back in."

I nod, everything making sense. We begin moving in, one box at a time, making several trips back to the Odair house. By the time we are finished, I am exhausted. When I lie down to go to sleep that night, I find myself in the same bed, but in a different room than before I went into the Games. Still, it's homey. However, if I expected to fall into a dreamless sleep, I was dead wrong. All night I'm tossing and turning, as I am plagued by nightmare after nightmare, face after face.

x.x.x.

I sit on the pier about a half mile down the shore from Victor's Village, listening to the waves strike the shore and staring out into the horizon. It's about halfway between the village and my old house, and I've been coming here ever since I was a little kid whenever I want to be alone. Lately, I have wanted to be alone quite often. Ever since I begin training at age six, I have always thought that being a victor would be easy. Win the games, come home, be rolling in money, luxury, and happiness. Man, was I ever naive. I couldn't have been farther than the truth. Ever since I've returned from the arena, I have been miserable. I can't sleep at night, making me irritable and moody during the day. I can't escape the tributes that haunt my mind, day or night. Maybe I'm depressed, or have post-traumatic stress disorder, or both. At this point, I don't care. I don't want to think about it. I don't want my parents constantly asking if I'm alright. I don't want to be sociable. I don't want to be in a fancy mansion that is a constant reminder of why I'm living there in the first place. So here I sit, at the pier. Alone.

I've been home for three days, and in that time, I've barely spoken. Not even to my father, who I used to tag around after like a bug following a light. Before the games, we used to spend almost every night together, whether it be fishing, walking along the beach, or simply just talking as father and son. But now, I can't help but notice the look of hurt and helplessness that shows up on his face every time I decline his attempts to become involved in my life again, telling him I have a headache, or I'm tired, or I just plain don't feel up to it.

Not once have I gone to see Sitka or any of my other friends, either. I feel bad about it, I really do. I tell myself that if they cared about me, they'd come to me. Deep down, I know that's silly. They still could care about me, figuring that giving me space is the best thing to do. It probably is. I don't feel like talking to anyone or socializing. Heck, I don't even feel like being around people.

The truth is, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'm not who I used to be. I'm afraid no one will ever view me the same way again. I'm afraid of what my love ones think of me. I'm afraid they'll see me as a monster. I'm afraid I _am_ a monster. Therefore, I figure I'm better off keeping to myself.

"Finnick!"

Or not.

"Where have you been, dude?" Sitka says, skidding to a stop as he reaches me.

"In the Hunger Games," I mutter. "Killing people."

Sitka frowns at me. "Ah, come on. You know that's not what I mean. I mean, where have you been _lately_? You've been home for three days, and I haven't seen you 'til today! See anything wrong with that picture? I tried to come see you, but you need a code to get in the front gate, and that's just to enter the _village_. But I know you can _leave, _right? I mean, you're here. So why haven't you?"

I shrug. "Guess I haven't been feeling up to it. Sorry…"

Sitka shrugs good-naturedly "S'okay. Man, I'm sure glad to have you back, Odair! I missed ya!" he grins and embraces me in a headlock. I jump and push him away roughly, nearly falling into the water as I do so.

"Don't do that!" I protest, glaring at him. "Please…"

"Still jumpy from the games, huh?"

"Yeah," I mutter, staring into the water.

"Oh… sorry. I didn't think of that."

I shrug again, staying silent. Sitka is silent too, for a minute or two, before speaking up again. "But seriously, Finnick, you have no need to worry. You were great in that arena! Five tributes! Do you realize that's almost a quarter?! And your use of retiarius fighting technique? Brilliant!"

I grit my teeth, trying not to snap at my best friend. "Sitka…" I say gently, trying not to make a scene.

" - were great with the spear, but with that _trident_, man you were deadly! The other tributes didn't stand a chance!"

"Sitka." I say louder this time.

" - that final fight? With Seven?! That was amazing! I was literally on the edge of my seat. Of course, I knew you were going to win, but -"

"SITKA!" The third time, I yell his name.

He stops talking and stares at me. "What?"

"I don't want to talk about the games," I reply.

"But this hasn't bothered you before!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

We sit in an awkward silence before Sitka gets to his feet. "I should get going. See you around?"

I nod, staring out into the ocean. Sitka turns to leave, but stops. "Finnick?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you're back."

I manage a very small and weak smile at him. "Thanks, Holland."

As my best friend disappears out of sight, I bury my head in my knees.

**Author's note: Expect chapters from here on out to move through time relatively fast as we jump from games to games. The victory tour will either be next chapter or the chapter after.**


	13. Chapter 13: Unconditionally

**Author's note: I've had the worst writer's block this past few weeks. Nothing would come to me, and I kept changing my mind on what I've wanted to do before the victory tour. Then I found myself with little time to write. But, here is what resulted, finally. It's a bit of a filler, but I hope you still enjoy it. I hope to get the Victor Tour chapter out before school starts on Sept. 2nd. :)**

"_Nothing you confess/ Could make me love you less/ I'll stand by you"_

_- from "I'll Stand By You" by The Pretenders_

**Chapter 13: Unconditionally**

August first. My fifteenth birthday. Celebrations are kept small. Mags crosses her lawn over to my mansion for dinner and cake. Sitka even stops by for a while. Mom made me give him the code to the front gates a few days ago, saying I needed to stay in touch with my friends more. Sitka and I are still on edge with each other from our last real conversation, but not so much to worry my parents and Mags. At least, not more than usual. They are always worried about me nowadays, it seems.

It's been a little over a month since the games ended, but not much has changed since the day I arrived back. I still face nights full of insomnia, and when I do fall asleep, I am plagued by nightmares full of fallen tributes. Now, even tributes whose deaths I had nothing to do with, such as Alfred from District three and Teresa from District Nine haunt me. My parents try. They ask if there is anything they can do for me, but I don't see what they could do to help. I don't want to bother them with problems they won't understand. How can I talk about the fear I see in an innocent tributes eyes, or the look of lust a forty-five year old Capitolite sends my way every time I have to act like a egotistic casanova. The life of a murderer and a philander isn't something that is easily talked about with one's parents, even if being a philander is just an act, and in reality, I still have my virginity. Mags is easier to talk to, but she's only available during the day, since I don't have the heart to wake her at two in the morning.

After cake has been eaten, Mags and Sitka go home. I excuse myself and walk down to the beach, watching the waves splash upon the beach. I lay back in the sand and stare up at the clouds. My mind fights sleep, dreading what will happen if I close my eyes. Eventually, my exhausted body gives way, and I slip into a restless sleep.

_I'm wading into the swampy water, despite screaming at myself to stop. I know this is a nightmare. I'm usually aware during nightmares, but it doesn't make a difference. Each time I yell, pinch myself, do anything to wake myself up, but nothing ever works. I can see myself in the nightmares, see my allies. But no one, not even myself, knows I'm there. No one responds to my pleads and screams. _

_I know about the shark mutts that lurk in these waters, but my dream-self doesn't. My dream-self once again doesn't hear me. I brace myself, waiting for the mutt attack, but it doesn't come. Instead, I try to wade back to shore, but I'm surprised to find myself immobile. I try to lift my feet, but they seem cemented in the muck. I turn to my allies. "A little help here?"_

_But they laugh, all of them. Even Merit. All at once, they turn back in the direction we had come. Merit is the last to leave. "Merit, please," I beg, but she shrugs._

"_You didn't save me, Finnick. Why would I save you?" She leaves, just like the others, leaving me struggling to break free all alone. I know it's a dream, but I see my dream-self panicking, and I panic too. Then the water level begins to rise. I know how to swim of course, but in order to swim, I need to move my legs. I try and try, but I can't. Soon, my head is completely underwater, and I'm forced to hold my breath. The murky water clouds my vision and stings my eyes, but I force myself to keep them open. Then I see them. The shark mutts. I let out what I think is a scream, but turns out to be merely a string of bubbles._

It's only then that I wake up. I bolt upright, my heartbeat racing. "Finn!" Someone shouts. I spin around, only to see my dad sprinting towards me. I relax slightly at the sight of him, although I am still breathing heavily.

"Finnick! Are you alright, son?" Dad asks, looking down at me with the sea-green eyes I inherited from him.

"I… I'm fine."

"Nightmare?"

I nod. Each night, I try to hold in my screams so I don't wake up my parents. Sometimes, though, I can't help it. The fact that I have nightmares is no secret to my parents; they just don't know how often they occur.

"Want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. My father frowns, something he's been doing a lot of lately. Because of me. "Well, I was hoping you would want to go fishing."

Tempting, but again, I shake my head. "No thanks."

But Dad will have none of it. "I'm not asking. I'm requiring. Now, let's go." Without another word, he forces a fishing pole into my hand and heads for the pier. He throws out his line, and I do the same. We fish in silence for a while before Dad speaks again.

"I'm worried about you, Finnick," he admits.

"You are?" I ask, simply because I have no idea what else to say.

"Yes," says Dad. "Your mother insists we should leave you be, that you'll come around on your own. But Finnick, don't think we don't notice how much you are struggling. You barely eat or sleep, you're rarely out with Sitka and your other friends, and you're always refusing our walks and fishing opportunities. We knew there would be changes when you came back, but you can't just shut us out, Finn. You can always talk to your mother and me about anything. You know that right? Or at least, you used to."

"I can't, Dad. I'm a murderer. A monster. I've killed innocent people. How can I talk to you and Mom about that? And how I'm supposed to act in the Capitol? Forget about it! I know you're trying to help, but you'd never understand. It's not really something I can talk about even if I wanted too. I'm sorry."

Dad sighs. "Do you know how my father died?"

I do, but I don't see how this connects. "He had a heart attack while out at sea."

Dad nods. "Did you know I was supposed to have been out on the boat with him?" I shake my head. "There was a dance. It was a special occasion, and District Four didn't have many dances, so I really wanted to take this girl, your mother. Father gave me the afternoon off to prepare. I returned home at about eleven, expecting my parents to be in bed. Instead, your grandmother was at the window. My father hadn't returned home at seven like he normally did. His boat was found the following morning. My father was on it, dead. The doctors suspected a heart attack, and because no one was out there to get him medical attention, he passed away.

"I blamed myself. If only I had been on the boat. I could have saved him. It wasn't a definite, but it was a possibility. My mother was an emotional wreck, and I couldn't bare to talk about the incident with her. I was afraid she'd blame me as much as I blamed myself But keeping that guilt inside me was eating me alive. Your mom could see that. Talking to her helped slightly, but I had nightmares of my father dying and of my mother hating me for what I did. Your mother finally suggested writing down my thoughts. I didn't like the idea of keeping a diary, thinking it was for girls, so I thought of them as letters to my parents. When I was ready, I spelled my guilt out to my mother. She was glad I opened up to her, and didn't blame me in the least. You see, Finnick, that's the thing about all good parents. No matter what you do, we'll always love our children. Unconditionally. I promise. Your mom and I think the world of you, and that will never change. Alright?"

I hesitate before eventually nodding and giving my father a hug. "You're right. Thanks, Dad."

He hugs me back, his arms as strong and protective as always. "No problem, kiddo."

* * *

><p>The five or so months until the victory tour passes by in a flash. I take my father's advice and start journaling, still keeping everything to myself, but writing it down on paper. I begin to ease back into my routine, helping Mom around the house and fishing with Dad. When September comes, I have the option of staying home from school, since victors don't have to learn any trades. Mom values education, though, so I still attend. Before the Games, I was fairly popular at school. Now, I'm even more so. Students flood me with attention and questions to the point where I can barely keep my cool. Yet, others seem wary and afraid of me. I can really tell the students who dread the Games, and the ones who have a fascination with them apart more than ever. More girls flirt with me too, which I wouldn't mind, probably even appreciate if they didn't get the idea from watching me at the Capitol and getting false images in their heads of the true me. I flirt back, to uphold my image, because Mags says I can never know when I might be being watched by the Capitol. I don't let anything go farther than that though. I am not emotionally ready for a serious relationship, and even if I were, I don't see Snow approving. I don't want to lead anyone on.<p>

I start seeing Sitka every day now. We talk, but there is some awkward tensions between us. It's obvious our friendship has changed. As much as I miss our old friendship, I don't see how I can fix it. Maybe it will improve someday. Maybe not. Only time will tell. Summer fades into fall, and winter soon begins to make its appearance as December creeps up. Along with crisp temperatures comes the buzz of excitement on every television. My victory tour is rapidly approaching, more quickly than I would like it too, and the Capitolites are anxious to see me again. I haven't made an appearance since my victory, so I'm well missed. Too soon, I return from an early morning swim to find Chauncey, his yapping poodles, and my prep team in the living room with my overwhelmed mother and my partially amused and partially sympathetic father. My prep team fusses over me, whining about how I've ruined their hard work.

"But don't worry, hon," one say as she files my nails. "You're still gorgeous. Just not drop dead gorgeous."

I smile at her. "Well, only you could make me that way."

Augustus chatters happily about his life during these past six months, while Chauncey brags about his prized poodles to my parents. As I step outside, rain begins to sprinkle down. The prep team begins to fuss again, but Augustus calms them down by pulling out a giant umbrella. Mags and Marissa come out to meet me, and after speaking to Caesar through the robotic-like cameras, we all make our way to the train station. We board the train and are zipping off within minutes.

"Now, Finnick, these are your speech cards," Chauncey says, handed me a pile of note cards about four or five cards thick. You are to follow them exactly. Understood?"

I nod, examining the speech. It's generic, similar to the ones I hear every year, about pride and honor and how hard all of the tributes thought. Yet, I have a hard time believing this is not what the families of the fallen are looking for. I wonder if they'll sense how fake it is as much as I do. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.


	14. Chapter 14: Resented

**Warning: This chapter contains consumption of alcohol. Nothing major, I just wanted to let you know. I thought Panem wouldn't have a drinking age, and if they did, it would be very low, like twelve or thirteen.**

**Chapter 14: Resented **

_Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die._

_- Carrie Fisher, actress (Princess Leia of "Star Wars".)_

District Twelve just happens to be on the complete opposite side of the country from Four, so it takes hours to get there. We pass through the Capitol, which is very different than the last time I was here. A few dozen citizens smile up at us, waving eagerly, but most continue with their daily business. I wonder if they even know I'm aboard this train.

Soon, the glistening buildings of the glorious city is well behind me. Ahead is nothing but wilderness and districts. The train speeds along through woodlands and prairie while Mags tries to prepare me for the tour. "Despite what's written on the cards, no two speeches will feel the same," she says. "District Eleven will be much harder for you than District Five. Some of the Districts will really resent you, but you can't let their resentment bother you. If you can tune it out, the only person the resentment is harming are the people who are holding the grudges."

I nod. "I'll do my best."

The farther north we travel, the gloomier the sky becomes. Dustings of snow accumulate more and more until finally there is at least six inches or so along the railroad bed. As we approach District Twelve, I see not an ocean to greet me, but a tall electric fence, similar to one that would surround a prison. The train slows down significantly, and I get my first look of the people of District Twelve. Most of them are underweight, some so much so I can see their collarbones even from the train. They are dressed in little more than rags, despite the cold of early January. Even some of the children's faces are covered in ash. While there are poor people in District Four, their poor quality of life is nothing compared to this. At least in Four, no one looked as though they could starve to death at any given moment.

"I had no idea it was this bad," I whisper to Mags, my voice quivering. "Why doesn't anyone do something?"

"They don't care, Finnick. Even before the Dark Days, District Twelve was poverty-stricken. Twelve is not of high value to the Capitol, and so they push them to the back of their minds. Besides, there is only one living victor, Haymitch Abernathy, and he certainly does not contribute to Twelve's wealth in any way."

The way the Capitol treats the districts, especially the outer ones sickens me, but there is nothing Mags or I can do about it, so I keep silent. The train stops completely, and the doors slide open. While I saw dozens of people on the way in, the train station platform is deserted except for a tall, balding man with a little blonde-haired girl by his side, and a few stranglers.

"Where is everyone?" Chauncey asks as he steps off the train. "Isn't this supposed to be a celebration?"

The man steps forward, clutching the little girl's hand. "Hello, I'm Mayor Undersee. Welcome to District Twelve." He holds out his free hand, ignoring Chauncey's question entirely. Each of us shakes hands with the mayor, and I glance at the little girl, who is peering up at me curiously.

"I'm Finnick," I say gently. "What's your name?"

"I'm Madge," the girl replies quietly, but clearly enough for me to understand her.

I smile at her. "Nice to meet you, Madge. How old are you?"

"Seven."

Mayor Undersee smiles at us. "I see you met my daughter, Madge. I'm sorry my wife couldn't be here to greet you. I'm afraid she's unwell."

"It's alright," I say politely. Mayor Undersee and Madge then lead us to Twelve's Justice Building, which looks a lot like Four's. A crowd is already gathered. Mayor Undersee gives his own speech, and then calls me up to the podium. I read from the cards at first, but then I look up at the families. At one side stands a man, a woman, and two children for Elmer. All are malnourished. On the other side is a man with his arm draped around a woman, both of whom seem well off. Ivy's parents. Her father stares straight at me, as if expecting me to say more.

"I never spoke to Elmer, but I am truly sorry for your loss. I did speak to Ivy though, and I feel in another world, we could have been friends."

Ivy's mother weeps into her hands, while her father gives me a cold, hard stare. I finish my speech and step down from the podium. After the feast, Mayor Undersee offers a tour of the district. There isn't much to see. The mayor points out an area called "the Seam" half-heartedly, explaining that the poorest in the district lived there. It is nothing more than row upon row of row of tiny shacks. We walk past the shops where the merchant class lives. A little boy about Madge's age stands in the doorway of the bakery, staring at us with wide eyes. A woman comes out, fury in her eyes. "Peeta! Back to work!" She snaps, yanking the boy back inside. Marissa freezes, looking as though she wants to give the woman a piece of her mind, but Mags holds her back. When we reach Victor's Village, we find a drunken Haymitch Abernathy stumbling around.

"Heeeeeyyyyyyy, it's the pretty boy!" Haymitch slurs, stumbling over. "How're you likin' Twelve?"

"It' … ashy…" I say, glancing at the mostly grey snow.

Haymitch bursts out laughing. "Ashy! Good one!" He roars, before kissing Mags and Marissa sloppily on their hands and somehow making it back inside his home.

That night, we sleep on the train, and depart for District Eleven first thing in the morning. It may only take a couple of hours to get there, but it's far enough that all the snow disappears by the time we arrive. I am not looking forward to this district, having killed both of their tributes. The icy stares of not only the families, but nearly the whole district causes me to keep my eyes to the paper, mumbling throughout my entire speech. When I say I'm sorry for their loss, a young woman shouts "That's bullshit!" Two peacekeepers drag her off, and although I'm worried for her safety, I continue on. A minute or two later, I can hear the woman's screams. I can only guess she is being whipped. I shudder. In Four, people are rarely whipped, unless they commit a major crime, such as stealing or vandalizing a peacekeeper's property. Never would someone be whipped simply for disrespecting a victor.

At the feast, I meet all four of Eleven's victors, my favorite being gentle Seeder Howell. Like Twelve, there isn't much to see in Eleven. There are vegetable fields and fruit orchards, and by now, everyone is back at work. Since it is winter, there isn't nearly as much work to be done as in the summer, the mayor explains. Like Twelve, Eleven has a smaller merchant class, but most people live in huts that are even smaller than Twelve's shacks. I receive so many cold looks that I am actually relieved to go back to the train.

District Ten's schedule is just like Eleven and Twelve's. I greet the friendly mayor and his family. I give my speech. I attend the feast. Ten's feast is better than Eleven and Twelve's. In Twelve, all they could give me was some bread and stew, which the mayor apologized many times for. Eleven's was similar, but in addition had a fruit salad on the side. Here in Ten, I am served the best quality of meat they can afford to give me. On my tour, I see not only cattle, but horses, hogs, sheep, and poultry as well. The citizens of Ten are all friendly, which I appreciate. Although they are slightly better off than Eleven and Twelve, their quality of life is still far from ideal.

Nine is very similar to Ten. Like Ten, I had nothing to do with the deaths of their tributes, so no hard feelings are held against me. Nine is another cold district. Its residents live in scattered villages surrounded by various fields of grain. There are very few trees, and I am told it gets hot here in the summer.

Eight takes an interesting turn. The mayor of District Eight lost both of his children in the Games, his son, Bernard, even being killed by the boy he is forced to greet. I apologize, trying to sound as sincere as I can, for taking his son's life. Mayor McKnight only sighs, surprising me slightly. "I suppose I can't really blame you. I was never the best father I could have been for him as it was. I… I wasn't even in his life," he says softly, his voice breaking. As I talk about Agatha and Bernard, I can see tears glistening in his eyes. At the feast, Mags and Marissa say hello to Woof, victor of the fourteenth games and Cecelia, victor of the fifty-ninth. Having only won a year apart, Marissa is especially close to two District Eight victors walk along with us as we tour the district. District Eight is dirty, with factories in every direction and a light smog in the air. A frozen pond lies near the square, but Mayor McKnight says it is murky and weedy in the summer, and not pleasant to swim in. Most citizens avoid it. The citizen's homes are small, but at least resemble houses. Most of the people seem well off, and few look to be starving.

District Seven is the most beautiful district I've seen so far. There are thousands of trees of dozens of species from oak and maple trees to evergreens. The snow makes everything even more beautiful. I almost feel peaceful, until I am reminded that Seven's tributes, Fawn and Hawk, are both dead because of me. Both have families I can barely look at as I give my speech.

At the feast, I am greeted by the four surviving victors of the district. After the career districts, District Seven has the most victors out of anyone. Currently, they have one less victor than Four does, with the first ever victor, Timber Kasson, passing away seven or eight years ago. Near the end of the meal, I am approached by a man I recognize to be Hawk's father. I'm nervous, until the man speaks. " I'd like to thank you for respecting my son's body," he says. "It was the least you could do to not mutilate it after you murdered him."

I am so stunned, I can only get out a "Your welcome," out.

"Just know that's the only reason I'm not pounding your face in, brat. That, and I would be severely punished if I did," he says bitterly before walking away.

On the tour, I am taken through the forest and past the lumber mills. Not surprisingly, all of the houses are made of wood, ranging in size from tiny log cabins to two or three story homes. All in all, District Seven seems to be a nice place to live. It's weird to think District Four is just directly south of here.

District Six is almost as snowy as District Seven. People are uninterested in us as we get off the train, and right away, I can tell the poor from the well off. Most people from Six get by just fine, but nothing more than that. They have roofs over their heads and food to eat, but none of the luxuries that One, Two, Four, and even Three have. The poor, though they are a minority, are obvious. Those without wander around in rags, some with dazed looks on their faces. Looking at Elsa's empty stage, and Zev's healthy-but-solemn looking family, I can guess what group each of them belonged to.

One of the two surviving victors, Justin, is a morphine-addict who doesn't pay us any attention. The second, Quinton Zealith, won the nineteenth Games. The third and final Six victor, Elsa's mother, passed away four years ago. She, like Elsa, was a morphine addict. According to Quinton, after her mother passed, Elsa took her mother's stash of morphine and lived on the streets. Although he never talks in anything but a mumble, Quinton is willing to communicate with us.

"Why aren't there more victors from Six?" I ask him hesitantly. The district seems well-off enough to have survivors, unlike Twelve, where most tributes are twigs.

Quinton shrugs. "Not experienced enough. Not much experience with weapons when you work with trains and hovercrafts. When a Six kid wins, it's 'cause they've spent the whole games hidin' and the careers destroyed themselves."

I can't help but feel sorry for the old man. Even though he's sober for his tributes, he's only brought home two, both of whom became addicts. He tells me he's all but given up. If his tributes feel they can win and want it, he'll help them. Otherwise, he doesn't bother.

We leave district Six shortly after the feast, not bothering to stick around. All there is to see are the manufacturing plants, which I'm not too interested in. District Five is similar to Six, with thirteen different power plants. My speech is simple, because I didn't know Ruthie or Logan at all, and had nothing to do with their deaths.

We move on to District Three. Sonja's family is small, with two parents and a sister. Alfred's family is bigger, with four siblings, two older and two younger than he was. Three is similar to Five, Six, and Eight, with smog filling the air. The families live in small, uniform houses, with not nearly as much technology as I would think. Apparently the Capitol withholds most of the technology from it's creators. However, Three has the best educational facilities I have ever seen. The schools are high-tech, and there is even a college. It is clear how much Three values education. The mayor, the second female leader I've seen on the tour, proudly explains the research facilities, which are off-limits to anyone who doesn't work there or is an authorized Capitolite inspector.

District Two is mountainous, which is to be expected. There are few poor citizens in Two, and those who are, the stonecutters, are about as well off as the average Three, Five, Six, or Seven citizen. The amount of victors are overwhelming. The most recent, Enobaria, flashes her sharp teeth in a smile, trying to intimidate me. On the tour, I see the quarries, a Peacekeeper training center, and a cluster of buildings that are off-limits. The tribute training center is huge, at least twice the size of Four's. According to the mayor, dozens of dorms are located there for the most serious trainees and any orphans the district may have.

Finally, we reach District One. Dusk's parents and younger brother and sister stare coldly at me during the entire speech, while Merit's mother and younger sister avoid my gaze. District One's citizen's are clearly the richest of all, and it shows in their decorations and food. I dance so much at their feast that I am exhausted. My feet are so tired by the end of the night, I don't feel like touring the district.

The Capitol is the stop I dread the most. President Snow gives yet another speech before I am invited to his mansion. There, I dance with countless Capitolites of all genders. Some, I have no clue what gender they are for sure. My flirtatious charms are on overdrive. Some time during the night, Marissa disappears.

"Where did Marissa go?" I ask Mags as soon as I get a chance.

"She went to get some air," Mags replies. "Don't worry about it, honey."

I try not to. I dance. I eat. I drink. I flirt. A few women try to get me to take them to bed. I politely refuse, always finding some excuse. After breaking away from a particularly pushy women, I look eyes with a displeased looking Snow. I shudder, breaking eye contact. By the end of the night, I feel a little tipsy. I feel really giddy, my vision blurs, and I start stumbling as I dance, laughing loudly as I do Is this what it feels like to be drunk?

Back on the train, I collapse in a chair. "Where we goin' now, Mags?" I am surprised by the volume and cheeriness of my voice. I sound like Haymitch Abernathy. I must be drunk! Haha, how fun!

Mags sighs, shaking her head slightly. "Back home, silly. Where else where we go."

Ah. Home sweet home. That will be nice.

I wake up the next morning in my own bed with little memory of how and when I got there. I also have a pounding headache. I groan. Honestly, I don't know how Haymitch can stand it. I for one, am never getting drunk again.

**Author's note: Sorry if that chapter progressed really fast. I like getting out quick updates. :) Sadly, this is probably the last one before school starts. Next update won't be until hopefully the first week of September, which really, isn't that far away at all. **


	15. Chapter 15: Mentor

**Author's note: Phew, ACT (American college prep tests) tests are tiring. I'm so glad that's over, and hopefully it means I can update a little more often now. :)**

**From now on, chapters will be very fast paced, often skipping months at a time. If you feel I'm moving too fast, or have something you want me to add to the story, please let me know.**

**Chapter 15: Mentor**

_What you want in a mentor is someone who truly cares for you and who will look after your interests and not just their own. When you do come across the right person to mentor you, start by showing them that the time they spend with you is worthwhile._

_Vivek Wadhwa, entrepreneur_

With spring comes wind, rain, and storms. No hurricanes spread their destruction across Four this year, but even so District Four is known for having frequent storms from April until late September, storms so strong that even the most daring fishermen don't venture out to sea. The worst storm of the year comes in early June, a month before the reaping of the sixty-sixth Games. Most people huddle down in their homes, trying to avoid the hurricane-like winds and the drenching downpour. At the training center, however, the most stubborn trainees still attend, which means I am expected to as well. With the reaping just a month away, the training center is holding it's annual Victor's Week. For one week, all of Four's victors who are young enough are asked to visit the training center to assist with training and give advice. I promised to attend months ago, and I can't back out now.

I am soaked from head to toe by the time I reach the main office where the victors were asked to meet. I am the second to arrive, with only Marissa and Head Trainer Arnold to greet me. Out of Four's six victors, five are alive, and four are here today. Being seventy-one, Mags has been excused from Victor's Week. Strutting in ten minutes late comes the egotistical, boisterous Thunder Martin, victor of the forty-sixth games, followed by a hungover Ray Dover, victor of the thirty-first. Arnold gives them a cold glance at them before continuing on with his instructions. Arnold will not hesitate to scold trainees, but doesn't dare criticize victors.

Arnold's instructions are simple. Do not spend too much time with any one tribute. Teach in areas of expertise, but don't show off. Encourage the hesitant. Praise the strong. Never physically harm a trainee.

I find Sitka involved in a high-energy sword fight with a training. I watch him for a few minutes, impressed at his quick and precise footwork. Sweat falls in rivulets down his face and neck, and he is so absorbed in the fight that he doesn't seem to notice me at first. Only when the trainer call time that he acknowleges me at all.

"Hey, Odair," he pants, picking his water bottle up off the floor. "About time you got here."

"Like you're ever on time," I counter jokingly. "Honestly, I'm surprised you even showed up at all today, Holland. Decided to brave the weather?"

"Hey, you think a little rain would stop me? No way!"

I shrug. "You never know." In the past, Sitka was always trying to find reasons to skip training. This year, he hasn't skipped a day yet. I wonder when he started taking training so seriously. Maybe he's realizing how important is to prepare in case he is reaped, or he is seriously planning on volunteering. I really hope it's the former, but I don't ask. I'm afraid if I do, an argument would ignite, and that's the last thing I want with Sitka right now. Our relationship has just become less awkward over the past two or three months, and I want to keep progressing, not step backwards.

"Seriously, though, I'm trying to train in other weapons besides maces. Work on my other skills, you know?"

"So you picked swords?"

"Why not? I trained with swords until I was nine before I switched to maces, remember? I'm actually pretty decent."

I nod. "Good idea. Hey, listen, I should probably go. Arnold won't be too happy if we're both slacking."

Sitka laughs. "Good point, Odair. I'll see you around."

"See you," I say. Our relationship is still not where it used to be, but at least we've made some progress.

I walk around the training center, spending most of my time at the snares, knot-tying, spears, and tridents stations. Tributes flock around me, especially giggling girls ranging from the age of eleven to sixteen or seventeen. They flirt with me and fight with each other for my attention, but I satisfy none of them.

"Ladies, I'm sure you're all lovely, but I'm here to offer advice, not flirt." Even though a good amount of trainees know my flirtatious personality is an act, I put on a good show. Those who know I'm only acting roll their eyes at my antics. I am demonstrating how to throw a trident when one whizzes over my right shoulder and hits the target on the bullseye right next to mine.

Behind me is a sixteen-year-old girl with a smirk on her face. She's fairly tall, about five-foot-seven, with straight black hair that falls slightly past her shoulders and dull-green eyes. It's Lana Ramero, a girl in the grade above me and one Sitka and I have both pointed out as attractive to one another.

"So," she says, "apparently I can beat the famous Finnick Odair."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Are you sure about that? Becuase it looks to me as if we're tied."

Lana nods, grinning.

"Hm… I feel a competition coming on."

"Bring it."

We take turns tossing tridents at the target. She's good. So good, we are evenly matched, with me only slightly ahead of her, with my tridents hitting the very center more often than hers do. Finally, Arnold catches on to our game. "Odair, Ramero! Quit showing off and move on!"

Lana shrugs, blowing her bangs out of her face. "I was getting bored anyway. Let's say you win. By a margin."

"Sounds good to me," I say, grinning. "I'd like to stay and chat, but I'd better head to the knot-tying station."

"May I come?" Lana asks. "My knot tying skills really need practice."

I nod and stroll over to the station. A small group crowds around me as I go through a series of complicated knots. I have the trainees mimic my actions, commenting on their progress and answering their questions. As the night passes, most tributes leave to go home for the night by seven o'clock. Lana is the last trainee standing. She is pleasant talk too, not once bringing up my games or saying something flirtatious. She tells me stories, mostly of her clownish grey kitten, Mouse.

"Why aren't you like other girls," I ask her.

"You mean, why aren't I kneeling at your feet begging for your attention," she asks in reply, smirking.

"Something like that."

Lana grins. "Oh, I have other ways of getting a boy's attention, Odair."

"Such as?"

"You'll know it when you see it," Lana says, taking a piece of paper and a pencil out of the pocket of her training jacket. She scribbles something down before handing the paper to me.

"My address," she says. "So we can ever hang out if you want sometime."

I nod. "Sounds good."

Lana's grin wides. "See you later, then."

"Yeah, see you." I smile to myself as I watch Lana walk out into the rain. Maybe it's finally time I start developing healthy friendships again.

* * *

><p>The weather changes quickly from windy and rainy to hot and humid with no wind at all. When Reaping Day rolls around, the temperature is about ninety degrees, with the humidity making it seem well over one hundred. I start out the day eating breakfast with Mags, where my mentor gives me advice on being a mentor myself.<p>

"Try not to get attached," she says. "Be sympathetic to the tributes, but always go into any mentoring situation assuming your tribute will die."

"Right," I sigh. I have been incredibly nervous for my first mentoring experience, but luckily, I'll have the best mentor in Panem by my side. Once again, Mags is District Four's second mentor. She refuses to take a break, saying without mentoring, she feels completely useless sitting at home. Normally, the other three mentors take turns mentoring beside her, but since I won last year's games, I will be filling my spot in this year. Then, for the sixty-seventh games, Ray will be taking back his spot.

After breakfast, Mags and I arrive at the Justice Building at nine for the Reaping's ten o'clock start. As mentors, she and I sit on the right-hand side of the stage, while Ray, Thunder, and Marissa sit on the left.

Our new escort arrives, wearing some of the tallest stiletto heels I have ever seen. She's around twenty-eight, with extremely pale, flawless skin. Her hair falls in short, bouncy curls and is dyed black, purple and hot pink. Blush covers her cheeks, and her eyes are surrounded by rings of bright blue eye shadow like a racoon. Her eyes themselves are so bright of a blue that they could easily be enhanced with colored contacts. While she looks out of place in District Four, but her appearance is only mild by Capitolite standards. She hustles over to us, looking quick flustered.

"I'm sorry for my tardiness," she says, "I'm originally the escort for Nine, but I only found out I was being moved an hour before I departed! The original escort chosen to replace Mr. Katz quit last minute, you see. I'm Crystalynn, by the way. Crystalynn Carter, to be precise, or Crysta. Whichever you prefer. Who are my mentors, if you don't mind me asking."

Crysta talks quickly. I'm not sure if she's nervous, or if she always speaks at that speed. I wave to her, and Mags smiles politely.

"Oh, Finnick Odair! What an honor it is to be in your presence. And Mags Cohen! How delightful it is to be working with the two of you. I must say, the victors of Nine are quite a bore. I'd love to stay and get to know you, but there is still so much to do!"

Crysta rushes off again. Mags and I look at each other, but my elderly cousin only shrugs. Slowly, teenagers begin to trickle in to their sections, the youngest appearing scared, and the oldest seeming bored. As she steps to the podium, she rambles on and on about what an honor it is to be escorting in District Four before moving on to the video. Finally, Crystalynn makes her way to the girls' reaping bowl. She stumbles and nearly falls, and her cheeks grow even redder if at all possible.

"Right, then," she mutters, reaching into the bowl. "Sandra Wade!"

A girl pushes her way through the section of thirteen-year-olds. Her green eyes are wide and her face is pale, but otherwise she is expressionless. "Any volunteers," Crysta asks cheerfully. Her face drops when none of the girls step forward. "Oh, well. Now for the boys."

Macedon Hunt's name is called. A shout rings out, and the seventeen-year-old scowls either for show or in disappoint as another boy races to the stage to volunteer. "How delightful!" Crystalynn cries. "A volunteer! What's your name, dear?"

"Diego Santiago," the volunteer says, grinning and waving to the crowd.

"Congratulations, Diego," says the escort. "Ladies and Gentlemen of District Four, I present to you your tributes, Sandra Wade and Diego Santiago!"

The crowd applauds politely, and the two tributes are sent into the Justice Building for their goodbyes. As for me and Mags, we say our goodbyes right here on stage. While the rest of the district disperses for their homes, the family and friends of the tributes file into the Justice Building. My own parents join us on stage. My mother, as usual, fusses over me with last minute instructions. "Just be careful, Finn. I don't want to hear about the most recent victor passing out drunk on the streets!"

I laugh. "Don't worry, Mom. I won't even come close to intoxication, I promise."

"You'll look after him, won't you, Mags? Make sure he says out of trouble."

Mags smiles at her. "Of course."

"I'll try not to catch too big of a fish while you're gone," Dad says.

"Well, if you do, take lots of pictures."

"That I will," he says, clapping me gently on the back. After hugging both my parents, I follow Mags onto the train, swallowing hard as memories of my own games rise to the surface.

"Now what," I ask Mags.

"Now we wait," she says, settling down into a plush arm chair.

"Who's mentoring who?"

"We'll just wait and see. Then we'll decide based on who would be the best match for each of us, unless one of the tributes has a preference like Mariah did last year."

I nod. The compartment door slides open. My first year of mentoring has officially begun.

**Author's note: How would you guys feel about Finnick being in a relationship before he's with Annie? I won't make this another one of those Finnick/OC stories, but I don't know if Annie should be Finnick's first real girlfriend either. So tell me, how far do you want a relationship between Finnick and an OC to go? Just friends? A onesided crush on the OC's part? Or a full blown relationship? Let me know so I can give you what you want.**


	16. Chapter 16: Listen

**Chapter 16: Listen **

"_Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."_

_Winston Churchill_

The first tribute to enter the train car is Diego. His dark brown eyes scan the car, covering every square inch of his surroundings. Sandra enters directly behind him with her eyes directly on Mags and me. Her blue eyes are bright and determined, and if she has been crying, she has hidden it well.

"This is it?" Diego asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask in return.

"You pathetic pair of mentors. An elderly woman and a little boy. Forgive me, but I was expecting someone with more skill."

"Mr. Santiago," Crystalynn says gently. "There is no need to be rude. I'm sure Mr. Odair and Ms. Cohen are wonderful mentors. I for one think it's an absolute honor to be working with them."

"Besides, I don't think it's a good idea to be insulting your only lifeline to the world outside the arena," I add.

Diego scoffs at me. "Whatever. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the dining car."

"Wait just a minute, young man," Mags says before Diego can even take a step. "You're not done with us yet. We're coming with you."

The eighteen-year-old shrugs. "Fine by me," he says, leading the way. Mags and I follow, with Crysta and Sandra taking up the rear.

Avoxes are already in the dining car, setting the table with more food than we can possibly eat. We each take a plate, with Diego piling his plate high and Sandra ony taking a small portion. Once we are all settled, Mags introduces herself, stating her name and talking about her experience in mentoring. She then nods encouragingly at me. I hadn't thought about what I should say beforehand, but my words flow from me easily enough.

"I'm Finnick, as you know, and I may have won only a year ago, but I will try my best to help both of you in anyway I can."

Diego does not seem to be listening, but Sandra is watching us intently, as if she will be quizzed on the information we are giving her.

"Any questions about either of us?" Mags asks.

"I have one," Sandra says tentatively.

"Go ahead, dear," says Mags with a smile.

"I was wondering if you'd be my mentor. No offense, Finnick. It's just that I've admired Mags my whole life." I glance at Diego, but he is concentrating fully on his food, as if the three of us aren't even talking.

I smile good-naturedly, "I don't blame you. Mags is the best," I say.

"We'll talk strategy after the parade tonight, alright?" Mags asks, and Sandra nods. It isn't long before Crysta calls us into the main car to watch the recaps. Sandra takes the viewing seriously, frantically taking notes on each tribute, from their stature and build to their age and facial expressions. Diego leans on the edge of his seat with his chin in one hand. While he looks bored his eyes never leave the screen. It is I who has trouble focusing. Instead of this years tributes, I see last year's. The girl from Two looks nothing like Antigone, yet all I can hear is her cackle. The girl from Six is a thirteen year old who looks relatively calm despite being reaped, yet all I can see is the fearful eyes of Elsa. The boy from Eleven is short for his age, yet all I can think about is gangly Granger, the first life I ever took. I must have zoned out at one point, because I jump when I feel a soft touch on my shoulder. I glance to my right to see Mags with a supporting hand on my shoulder, her grip gentle, yet comforting.

By the time the reapings finish, Crysta announces that we will arrive in the Capitol in about twenty minutes, giving Mags and I just enough time to get to know our tributes. My mentor leaves with Sandra, leaving me with the silent Diego.

"So, do you have a strategy in mind?" I begin.

"What does it matter to you?" Diego asks with a sneer.

"Because I'm your mentor," I say, "and I'm here to help."

"We'll, you're not helping. You're just a kid. Your ego, quite honestly, is sky high. What makes you think you know more about the Games than I? I have a plan, one that does not involve a naive, egotistical little boy like you. Stay out of my business."

I stare at him in shock for a minute. I understood coming into this that most tributes I mentored would be older than me, at least for a few years. I know I may not have as much experience in training as an older mentor would, yet I am still surprised at Diego's lack of respect. It may sound selfish, but I have no desire to help someone out of the arena if they won't even accept my assistance.

"You don't want my help? Fine, don't take it. You still are going to have to listen to any advice I have, whether not you chose to accept it. Just remember which one of us made it out of an arena."

Diego rolls his eyes. "Please. The only thing you are good for, Odiar, is looking pretty for the Capital and collecting my needed funds. When I come out of the arena, it will be all on me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make myself look presentable. Not all of us can simply roll out of bed Capitol-ready, you know." The eighteen-year-old rises from his chair and into the next car, leaving me staring dumbfounded after him. I'm not sure if he means it as a compliment or an insult. Either way, there's no need to dwell on it.

* * *

><p>When the train pulls into the Capital's station, the deafening sound of the citizens' cheers is an all too familiar sound. I have only been to Panem's most luxurious city two other times, yet it seems though I have been coming here for years. The crowd roars with excitement, not only to get a glimpse at the tributes of District Four, but of last year's victor as well. As we step off the train, the Capitolites scream my name and push others roughly aside in order to get as close to me as they possibly can. I already have my Capital charms plastered on my face. Sandra seems amazed and a little overwhelmed by her surroundings, while Diego seems to be doing his best to stand out. He holds his head high, smiling and waving good-naturedly. Some attention moves from me to him, which is how it should be. My life is no longer in danger. It's not me who needs these wealthy sponsors' support. We push our way through the crowd and somehow make it into the remake center, where Sandra and Diego are ushered away by their prep teams.<p>

Meanwhile, Mags gives my hand a nudge and gestures me to follow her back outside into the crowd. "Where are we going?" I shout over the shrieking voices.

"The president's mansion. For the Victors' banquet," Mags grunts in response, barely audible.

I have several questions, but don't ask any of them, not wanting to shout over the noise. We walk straight up to the gate of Snow's mansion, which is guarded by two unmasked peacekeepers. Unlike in the districts, the peacekeepers here in the Capitol serve as more of a civil police force and presidential guards. Therefore, this pair wears only formal uniforms.

"State your identification," one says without even looking up.

"Magdalene Cohen," Mags says without missing a beat. "Eleventh victor, District Four."

I then follow her lead, despite the fact that the peacekeepers already know my name. "Finnick Odair. Sixty-fifth victor, District Four."

"Enter." With the push of a button the gates swing open, only to close again just barely after Mags and I step inside. On other occasions such as the Victors' Ball at the end of the Victory Tour, the wealthiest, most elite Capitolites are allowed in Snow's mansion, but not today.

"The Victors' Banquets is set up in order for the president to show his gratitude towards the victors. The mentors are required to attend, but all of us are invited. Many of the younger victors come every year, whether they have to mentor or not. The banquet also serves as an annual mentors' meeting, in which we fill out some forms and discussion any of the years changes."

I nod and follow Mags down a long corridor and into the dining hall. A hall indeed. The space is more than just a room. A table of at least fifty feet, probably longer spans the length of the space. Stained glass window are spaced out about ten feet apart on either wall to my left and right, and four crystal chandeliers line the middle of the ceiling. The place looks more like a chapel than someone's dining room. Of course, only the best for President Snow.

Mags takes a seat near the front end of the table next to Woof, a victor a few years younger than her and his mentoring partner this year, Cecelia. Across from me is a woman in her late fifties from District Five. More people join us, including Gloss, Cashmere, and Enobaria, the three most recent victors other than myself. They form a cluster a few seats down, not talking to anyone else.

Talking ceases as Snow enters the hall. He walks up to each victor, shaking their hands and giving them a big, insincere smile. He asks each one some personal questions as if talking to an old friend whom he hasn't seen in month before moving on to the next person.

"How have you been, Ms. Cohen? I trust you are in good health?"

Mags nods. "Absolutely, Mr. President. And yourself?"

"Never better, Ms. Cohen. Thank you for your concern."

Snow takes a step to his right and holds out his hand to me. "Good afternoon, Mr. Odair. Have you been enjoying your first year of victory?"

"Yes, sir," I reply. "It's been the best year of my life."

"Good to hear. Now, you are turning sixteen in a month, the first of August, correct?"

At sixty-seven years of age, Snow's hair and beard matched his name. He may be aged, but his mind is still clearly sharp. I don't understand how he can remember when my birthday is, or how it is of any importance to him. It's a little unsettling.

"That's correct, sir."

"Well then, happy birthday in advance."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are welcome, Mr. Odair. The year I turned sixteen was a pivotal year in my life. It was the start of my political career. I was the youngest senator in the history of Panem at age seventeen. Did you know that?"

I shake my head. "I did not, but that is rather impressive."

Snow nods. "Indeed. Enjoy your stay in the Capitol. Take time to relax and enjoy the city."

"Yes, sir," I reply, and Snow moves on the the next victor.

After the banquet, Mags and I walk to the City Center, where the tribute parade is set to take place in about an hour. We find our places in the Victor's box, an area that gives us a bird's eye view of the chariots' path. The closest, most luxurious seats are reserved for the potential sponsors, but large flat screens to the left, right, and straight ahead show the action close up. Twenty minutes before start time, tributes begin to appear next to their respective chariots. Most of the boys arrive before their district partners, though that is not always the case. The camera is currently skimming past the tributes, giving us our first looks at the costumes.

Sandra's costume doesn't look half-bad. She's a sea urchin, dressed in a short, sleeveless black dress covered with sewing pin-like spines around a foot long each. Her hair is tied back with a silver ribbon, and on the top of her head sits a round back hat covered in shorter spines. Her outfit isn't nearly as revealing as some of the other girls', unlike Mariah's was last year. Because of her decent outfit, Sandra seems able to produce a genuine smile.

The same can't be said for Diego, however. I can't decide if he is supposed to be a blue cactus or a piece of coral. His entire body is covered in a cerulean, sequence-filled wetsuit. His arms, which are completely encased and end in round stumps hang stiffly in the air, his hands rising above his head like goal posts. Urchins, starfish, and aquatic fish of various colors have been pinned onto his wetsuit, and little clownfish dangle from around the area where his ears would be. Diego is scowling.

The chariots begin moving forward. When it is Diego and Sandra's turn to be in the spotlight, they get about as much cheers as everyone else. Sandra is waving and smiling, looking like a charming, friendly young girl who is happy to be in the Capitol. With his unrelenting scowl, Diego seems to be the opposite, which doesn't score any points with the Capitol.

Once all the chariots have stopped moving, Snow rises to the podium, cueing the mentors to evacuate the Victor's box and make our way down to the ground floor in preparation to collect our tributes. On the way to the training center, Sandra is eager to talk to Mags, while Diego won't even make a sound to me, not even with prompting. He pushes his way past me and would even pass Crystalynn if she'd allow him. The escort holds him back, however, insisting he'd get lost if he didn't follow her.

I'm really going to have my work cut out for me. If only I could bring his ego down a few notches and get him to listen for once. Because no one knows everything at age fifteen, or age eighteen. Not even Mags knows everything, and she's the wisest person I know. If Diego is going to come out of the arena alive, he and I are going to have to work together, whether he likes it or not.

**Author's note: For pre-games and games chapters like these, my goal is to have around 2,000 words per chapter. Next chapter will finish with the pre-games, and go through most, if not all, of the games, barely touching on training and interviews, since I think writing and reading through all that for four hunger games would start getting boring and repetitive. Hopefully this is a good pace. Once again, if you think anything is moving too fast, please let me know.**


	17. Chapter 17: Dictator

**Chapter 17: Dictator **

_"Dictators free themselves, but they enslave the people"_

_- Charlie Chaplin, actor_

The training days pass quickly. I ask Mags what I should do about Diego's stubbornness, and she tells me to let it go. If Diego isn't willing to accept my advice, then that is his problem.

"What are you doing in training?" I ask Diego one night at dinner.

He shrugs. "Nothing."

"Oh, come on! I know you think my help is useless, but you have to at least let me know what you're spending your time on so I have a basic ideas what to tell the potential sponsors!"

"You don't get it Odair," says Diego. "I am doing absolutely nothing in training other than watching my allies and the other tributes. I'm hiding my skills, only doing what I have to to ensure the other careers accept me."

"Not a bad strategy," I say. "I can see your interview angle well. You could go with deep and secretive."

"I've got my own strategy. I don't need yours." Diego leaves, and I make no move to follow him.

I don't see much of Diego the next few days. I think I see more of Sandra than I do of him. I feel like a failure as a mentor, like I'm not doing my job. I tell Mags about my concerns, but she waves them off. "It's him who is avoiding you," she says. "Not the other way around. You've reached out to him the best that you could. All you can do now is the behind the scenes work, trying to gain him sponsors, and sending him anything he may need with that sponsorship money."

I nod. "Okay. Now how do I get sponsors?"

Mags gives me a small smile. "You'll see. We're going there tonight."

True to her word, Mags and I leave the tributes in Crysta's care later that night. We take the elevator to the ground floor, where there is a tunnel that leads to the building adjacent to the tribute center. "This is the Games Headquarters," Mags explains as she leads me down the tunnel. "Everything Games related is in this building. The ground floor is the meeting place between sponsors and mentors and is where most of the deals are made. The Mentor's floor is the top floor. It is where we hold important meetings, eat our meals, and sleep during the games. It also includes the mentors' room, which is where we watch the tributes. We won't be going in there until the Games actually begin. The roof is used to store the hovercraft that takes tributes to the arena. Finally, the lower level is used as the Gamemakers' control center. Only the President and the Gamemakers are allowed down there."

I nod. "Got it." We enter through a set of double doors. In the far corner is a staircase with one set heading down and the other heading up. The main entrance to the building, the one the sponsors would use, is to the left, and to the right is another set of gold-plated doors with a sign labelled "lounge" hanging above it.

"This way," Mags says, leading me to the right. The room we enter is dimly light, with at least one hundred Capitolites milling about, socializing. The room is filled with cigarette smoke, making visibility even worse. In the center of the room is a large circular bar, manned by eight or nine avoxes. Several more avoxes walk from the many tables that dot the room, serving hors d'oeuvres and beverages. Side rooms line the back and side walls, about a dozen in all. Some doors are closed, others wide open.

"The first step is to mingle. You're very popular, Finnick, so you should have no trouble getting attention. I'm surprised you aren't surrounded yet. Once you do get talking to someone, use your charm. You know what to do. Talk about why Diego is going to win the games, and why the sponsors should support him. Do that all while using your flirtation skills, and you should be golden. I'll check in with you as soon as I can." Mags walks over to an older man sitting at a table alone and shakes his hand before sitting down. Meanwhile, I take a few steps toward the bar.

Someone suddenly squeals. "Finnick! Finnick Odair is here!"

At once, I am surrounded by a pocket of eager, squealing Capitolites. I chuckle, "Easy, easy ladies and gentlemen. There is no need to fight over me. There is plenty of this to go around, and as much as I love each and everyone of you, I'm here on business. My tribute Diego, is as nearly as sexy and charming as I am, and he's in dire need of money. So, who's interested?" A chorus of voices rings out, but one person grabs me roughly by wrist and yanks me into a private room.

"I'm Aviana Deloria," The woman purrs. She looks middle-aged, but I'm not sure do to the many cosmetic surgeries I'm sure she has had in the past. She has hot pink hair and skin, with glittery, silver streaks in her hair and black tattoos of birds covering her entire body. "It is such a pleasure to meet you."

I wink. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Deloria."

Ms. Deloria lets out a moan of satisfaction. "Mmm. You are just as sexy as they say. When do you turn sixteen?"

I frown slightly. What's the big with the age of sixteen? Snow seemed very interested in it too, just like this woman. "August first."

"Oh, you're almost legal!"

"Legal?"

Ms. Deloria wraps her arms around my waist from behind. "Oh, you'll see," she whispers, her lips tickling my ear as she runs her hands up and down my rib cage. I tense slightly, uncomfortable with her touch. No one has ever gone this far before.

The Capitolite laughs. "Your uneasiness is adorable! I love it! Be careful though, Finnick. Not everyone feels as I do. They want a response."

"Right," I say, not liking where the conversation is going. "Now Ms. Deloria, you are very beautiful, and I'd love to chat, but my tribute's life is at stake. I'd like to make some deals if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," Ms. Deloria says. She hands me a card with her name, address and phone number on it. "Call me if you need money. Or anything else." She winks and holds the door open for me.

"It was nice talking to you," I say.

"It was nice talking to you, too. Have a good nice, Finnick."

"You too," I say, and walk off in search of other sponsors. I talk to several other people that night. Some are creepy like Aviana, while others are all business, interested in only making a deal. Later that night, I am pulled aside by an elderly man.

"Emilio Horace," the man says, holding out his hand. "I've been meaning to speak with you for a while now."

I shake his hand. "Well, here is your lucky chance," I say, smiling arrogantly. "You'll never know when you will get the opportunity again."

"Yes, indeed," says Mr. Horace. It is nearly impossible to speak to the most popular of victors such as yourself without getting interrupted. Would you mind if we spoke in private?"

"Of course not." I lead him to one of the private rooms, shutting the door behind us. We both then take a seat at the table that has been placed in the center of the room.

"I have been a fan of yours from the beginning. I admire your honor and courage. You have a good moral compass, young man, one that isn't often seen from the inner district alliance. I also admire your general outlook on life, from what I've seen."

"Thank you, sir. I try."

"Don't mention it. You know, I could envision you winning the Games so clearly, that it was I who bought you the trident."

I am surprised. I never thought I would meet the sponsor who gave me my life-saving gift, nor would I have thought it was given to me on the account of having a "good moral compass" rather than my killing skills. "Thank you, Mr. Horace. Your gift made a tremendous difference in my Games."

"I'm glad," Mr. Horace says, smiling. He hands me a check, already written out and signed for $3,000, and a business card. "I want to help you out in any way that I can. I believe you can accomplish great things, Mr. Odair, if you set your mind to it. Give me a call if you find yourself short of money. It is an honor to finally meet you."

He holds out his hand, and I shake it again. "You as well. You have been more than generous."

"It's no trouble," Mr. Horace replies, holding the door for me. "I hope we meet again.

I say goodbye to the elderly man and wish him well. I then find Mags standing alone in a corner of the room.

"How was fundraising?" she asks.

"It went well, I think. I have several business cards and about $5,000 worth in checks. Some people want to see the interviews before they make any official deals."

Mags nods. "That sounds typical. I'd call that a successful night. I think it's time to walk back." I follow Mags back towards the tunnel, pushing through the crowd of people. By the time I collapse in bed, I am so exhausted, I can barely keep my eyes open. Another day has come and gone, and we are one step closer to another Hunger Games being underway.

* * *

><p>The night of the interviews has quickly approached. Mags and I sit in the audience of Caesar Flickerman's auditorium, the building with the largest seating capacity of any other enclosed meeting place in Panem, not including City Circle, the location of the chariot parades. Diego has a nine in training, while Sandra has a six.<p>

Sandra's angle is to be sweet, charming, and confident. She explains that she may have been reaped, but it doesn't matter, because she is just as ready to fight as the older inner district tributes. Diego surprisingly goes partially with my suggestion, acting mysterious and sexy, with arrogance mixed in. Diego gains some more sponsors, but he also loses some money that he had previously.

Mags wakes me up bright and early the next morning. After showing, dressing, and eating breakfast, we walk over to the Games Headquarters for the second time in less than twelve hours. This time we walk past the lounge and up the stairs to the mentors' floor, where Mags gives me a brief tours, showing me where I will be eating and sleeping the duration of the games. Then she leads me into the main room on the mentors' floor, a room titled the Mentor Room. The room is dimly light and spacious, with a peacekeepers station in the corner of the room. Along each side wall line twelve large computer monitors, with Districts One through Six on the left, and the others on the right. Each computer has a set of controls to send tributes gifts and a set of headphones. On the far wall is a large screen that takes up the entire wall. Mags tells me the main screen shows the main footage, and whenever a major moment is being shown, all mentors are required to stop what they are doing and watch. In the middle of the room is a mass command station, a pool table, and a table with chairs for playing cards.

Most of the mentors that have already arrived are not in their places. They are socializing instead, talking to their friends before the Games begin. I feel a little out of place. The youngest victors other than myself are twenty-year-old twins Gloss and Cashmere, victors of the sixty-third and sixty-fourth Hunger Games, and they aren't exactly friendly. "Aw, look at sweet little Finnick. He doesn't even know the half of the aftermath of the Games yet," Gloss teases.

His sister hits his arm. "Leave him alone, Gloss. He's not a child, so don't treat him like one," she says before turning to me. "Don't listen to him. Welcome to the team, Odair."

"Thanks for your defense," I say, adding a seductive purr out of habit. "but I can assure you I'm find on my own. Your assistance is appreciated though, don't get me wrong."

Cashmere rolls her eyes. "Save the acting for someone else, Odair. I'm not buying it."

Despite Cashmere's nice intentions, she does nothing to involve me in the conversations between herself, her brother, and the mentors from Two, and when I speak up, they ignore me for the most part. I'm not too bothered, though. I'd rather talk to Mags anyway. If I need to ask them something, it will only be concerning our tributes' alliance.

Peacekeeper Charlus Porter, the man in charge of running the Mentor Room calls our attention by blowing a sharp whistle. Immediately, the mentors take their places in their chairs. Mags sits on my right, while the female mentor from Three is on my right. "Happy Hunger Games! The Tributes will be raised into the arena in five minutes. Your headphones are set to both your tributes' tracker and the Peacekeeper command station. If I or any other Peacekeeper call your attention to the main screen, you must do so. Failure to do so will result in punishment. If you receive a pass, you must show it to a Peacekeeper for approval. If it is approved, you must leave immediately and go to the destination indicated. Failure to do so will result in punishment. When your tribute passes, you must turn off your monitor. You may however, stay in the room and watch the Games from there, or return to your quarters. You are not permitted to leave the city however, and are still required to watch the remainder of the Games. Are there any questions?" The room remains silent. "Very well. Once again, Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

All monitors, including the main screen come alive, giving us our first view of the arena. It's a town. A town with full standing buildings that seem to have been abandoned. There is a sherriff's office, a general store, a one-room schoolhouse, a church, and a saloon, among other buildings. The town is tiny with one main street with a smaller side street running through the middle. At that point the street widens into a square making room at the crossroads for the Cornucopia, along with a large well, which I'm sure is the towns only water source. It looks as though tributes can escape the town, but I'd doubt they'd want to. All that surrounds the town are canyons, cacti, tumbleweeds, and sand. The town is a ghost town, settled in the middle of the wild west. The tributes rise onto their plates simultaneously and gaze around in awe. The clock counts down, and at the end of the minute, the tributes are rushing off their plates.

Sandra runs off her plate to the girl from Five, who looks to be around my age. They talk frantically for a few seconds before darting off down one of the side streets, deciding to avoid the Cornucopia. Diego runs towards the Cornucopia and grabs a spear, killing two tributes by the end of the bloodbath.. Only three tributes other than the careers make it out of the Cornucopia with supplies, the boys from Three and Ten and the girl from Eleven. The rest of the tributes either skipped the Cornucopia or are dead. Eleven bloodbaths occurred in all. The girl from Three, the boy from Five, both from Seven and Eight, the girls from Nine and Ten, the boy from Eleven, and both from Twelve, are all dead. Meanwhile, the careers stand guard over the well and the Cornucopia.

The girl from Six is found and killed on Day Two by the careers. Other than that, no deaths occur within the first few days. Around seven p.m. on the second day, an Avox comes in with a note addressed to me.

_Mr. Finnick Odair's presence is required in President Snow's office as promptly as possible. He is temporarily relieved from all mentoring duties in order to do so._

"What's this?" I ask, showing the note.

Mags frowns. "You had better go and see what he wants.

"Okay," I say, getting up from my chair. I start walking to the Peacekeepers' station.

"Oh, Finnick?" Mags calls.

"Yeah?"

"Do as he says. Don't argue with him."

I nod, and give her a thumbs up. I show the note to Peacekeeper Porter, who stamps a seal of Panem on it and presses a button. The door slides open, allowing me to pass. Before I leave, I ask for directions, and Porter gives them to me. Snow's office is in his mansion. When I get there, all I have to do is show the Peacekeepers standing guard at the gate my note, and one of them will escort me to the office.

The walk from the Mentor's room to President Snow's office takes me about ten minutes in all. I knock three times on the door, and open it when I hear Snow's voice say, "enter."

"Sit down, Mr. Odair," Snow says. "We need to have a discussion."

"Is something wrong, sir?"

Snow chuckles and says, "no Mr. Odair, not with you. But did you know there is a shortage of money in the Panem government? We are in debt."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what this has to do with me. I can give back some of my victor's money."

"That won't be necessary. But I do need your help."

"In what way?"

"Some of the victors have agreed to make a little money for the Capitol. Many victors are very popular with the Capitolites, and it is the victor's job to keep them entertain for a night for a fee. The victor must do whatever the client says, no matter what, or a heavy price will have to be paid."

With every word, I become more and more furious. "You mean prostitution?"

"Yes, in a sense. Keep in mind this wouldn't start until the victory tour of the current Games. It is completely optional, but I strongly advise you agree, or you may regret it."

"No!" I exclaim, completely forgetting politeness and obedience. I stand from my chair at once. "Absolutely not! I will do anything you ask of me, President Snow, but I will not let you take advantage of me like this! I am not having sex with a complete stranger for your personal gain!"

Snow's eyes grow cold. "Very well. I so hoped you would agree. Let me know if you change your mind. You're dismissed."

I angrily walk out of the room and back to the Games Headquarters. To be completely honest with myself, I saw this coming. Because of all the hints that were dropped, including Snow being so interested in my turning sixteen, I could have guessed what he wanted me today. Even the Capitolite woman I spoke with a few days ago, the one who said I was "almost legal", should have given me a clue.

President Snow is not a president, despite his name. A president should be someone who serves the will of the people, all the people, not just the wealthy Capitolites. Snow is instead a dictator. He may be free to do as he pleases, but as a result, he has enslaved the people. He has tried to turn victors into sex slaves. I am not going to take his shit anymore. It's time to defy Snow and show him he cannot control me. I will not back down against injustice.

**Author's note: That was longer than I intended it to be. Oh well, I like longer chapters. And look, I updated in under a month again! Yipee!**


	18. Chapter 18: Late

**Author's note: Happy New Year! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. Again. I think the chapter title is appropriate in more ways than one.**

**Chapter 18: Late**

"_Apologizes are pointless, regrets come too late. What matters is you can move on, you can grow." _

_Kelsey Grammer, actor_

A few days into the Games, two people have died from thirst alone, since the careers are heavily guarding the well near the Cornucopia. One tribute, the seventeen-year-old boy from District Ten, realizes he can gather water from the cacti only a hundred or so yards from the town. Sandra and her ally watch him from the upper story window of a building. After he is long gone, they sprint out and collect water of their own before returning to their shelter.

On day five, the girl from Eleven finds a highly venomous rattlesnake. It is much like the snakes that killed Ivy last year, except one bite from them, and your heart will stop within minutes, as Caesar Flickerman explains. Keeping her distance, the sixteen-year-old pulls a jacket out of her backpack and tosses over the snake. In one swift motion, she then scoops up the snake and dumps it in the now empty backpack before quickly pulling the zipper almost all the way closed, somehow without getting bitten. Perhaps the Gamemakers are working in her favor. She then sits the backpack outside a building with a sign reading "saloon" and darts away, taking shelter in another building.

A couple of hours pass, enough time for me to grab some lunch while Mags keeps an eye on both tributes. By the time I return, the careers, minus the boy from One who is standing guard over the Cornucopia and the well, have come across the backpack. Diego laughs. "What idiotic tribute would leave their backpack here?"

"Dunno," the boy from Two grunts. "Check for supplies. The girls and I will search this place."

Diego's alliance enters the building, while he picks up the backpack. "What are you doing?" I mutter under my breath. "Is he an idiot?"

"He doesn't know better, Finnick," Mags says, glancing at my screen.

"But you think he'd be somewhat wary of it! Hopefully he'll have the sense to throw it far away once he looks inside." However, Diego doesn't even bother to look as he sticks his hand inside the backpack. "Shit. Yeah, he's an idiot."

I begin to search my long list of gift options under I find a snake bite antidote even before Diego cries out in pain . With the money I have gathered for him, I have more than enough to click the send button. Before the parachute can fall, though, Peacekeeper Charlus must approve it, which takes several minutes. As I wait, Diego lies crippled on the ground writhing in pain and gritting his teeth. No one comes to his rescue. By the time the antidote does float down to him, his cannon has sounded, and Diego is staring up at the sky, his eyes cloudy and lifeless. My screen turns black.

"So… that's it then," I say, more of a statement than a question.

"That's it," says Mags.

Despite Diego and I not getting along, I feel numb. I feel like a failure, even though there was nothing I could have done differently. I was too late. "Does this get easier or harder as the years pass?" I ask Mags.

"It never gets easier, but years tend to vary. Some years you'll feel closer to tributes than others. No matter what though, losing a tribute is hard, so I wouldn't say it necessarily gets harder either."

"So now what do I do?"

"Anything you want," says Mags. "You can help me with Sandra if you want, or just hang around here when I don't need you. You could wander the Capital. The only thing you really can't do is go home."

In the end, I decide to lounge around the mentor's room, relieving Mags every once and a while so she can eat, sleep, and shower. When I'm not serving as Mags substitute, I watch the Games on the main screen. Not much happens in the following few days. Finally, on day eight, the boy from Three, having run out of water in his canteens on day six, ventures out into the desert out of desperation. There, he is attacked by a pack of coyote mutts and killed.

The following day, three of the remaining four careers find Sandra and her ally in their hiding place. The girl from Five is killed by the girl from One. Meanwhile, Sandra, knowing that although she is trained, she can't defeat three older tributes at once, jumps out the window in hopes of somehow escaping alive. She lands in the bushes below, hitting the ground hard, but not so hard to be killed, since the window wasn't too far off the ground. Still, she clearly seems to be in a lot of pain, so much so that she passes out not long after impact. The careers sprint outside to finish the job. Suddenly, a cannon goes off.

"Think that was for Four?" the girl from One asks.

"It had to be," says the boy from Two. "Come on, the sun is starting to set. Let's go back to camp."

I find myself holding my breath. Is Sandra really dead? Is this the end for District Four? I glance at Mags screen, but it is still glowing, showing an unconscious Sandra. Turning my attention back to the main screen, which is currently showing the boy from Ten. The clock in the lower right corner of the screen reads 8:13. That was three minutes ago. On screen, the boy is sitting up in the rafters with his legs drawn up to his chest. I don't know how he got up there, but it makes a good hiding place. The door to his shoulder slowly creeps open, and the girl from Eleven silently steps inside. The boy waits until she is directly underneath him before he throws down his knife, hitting her in the head. The cannon that went off was for the girl from Eleven, not for Sandra! I can't help but feel relieved.

Now, only the four remaining careers, Sandra, and the boy from Ten are left. That night, once the careers realize Sandra is not dead, an argument breaks out about what to do about her. The girls of the alliance think she should be hunted and killed. The boy from Two assumes she is injured and without supplies, and believes they should just leave her to die and go after the boy from Ten. The boy from One takes this opportunity to make his move while his allies' backs are turned. He sends his spear right through the boy from Two's back.

"Traitor!" The girl from Two screeches, and within seconds, a second cannon goes off, and the boy from One collapses with an arrow stuck in his forehead, launched from the girl from Two's bow. The girl from One immediately bolts, but her last remaining ally does not follow. Instead, she shrugs, and heads off in the direction of Sandra.

After the action, I go back to my place next to Mags. "How's it going," I ask. Looking at her screen, I see Sandra is now awake and trying to crawl to a new hiding place.

"Not too well," Mags says with a sigh. "I think she has a broken leg and probably a concussion. I sent her pain medication, but I'm afraid that's all I can do. The sponsorship money is running low, and the Capitolites have little support for her. Everyone I contacted favored one of the other tributes."

"Can't we use Diego's extra money? He had more than one thousand dollars left."

Mags shakes her head. "Most of Diego's sponsors chose to sponsor him, not District Four. All donations have gone back to their contributors."

"Maybe I could call some up and ask. I might have some sponsors who'd do anything for the fabulous Finnick Odair."

Mags purses her lips, but nods. I sprint off to my sleeping quarters, which is equipped with a holographic phone. I call several people on my sponsor list, but all of them politely decline. Most have turned to other tributes after Diego's death and do not wish to sponsor Sandra. I pace around the room a few times. These women are Finnick fanatics. If they won't sponsor Sandra, despite me using all the charming words I have in me, then who will? I can't even find someone willing to buy her food, let alone a weapon to defend herself. As soon as the word "weapon" moves into my brain, I stop pacing and dial on last number.

"Hello, Mr. Odair," Emilio Horace says as the screen comes to life.

"Good evening, Mr. Horace," I say, addressing the man who bought me my trident. "I was wondering if you'd be able to help me."

"How so, young man? Diego is deceased. I'm terribly sorry by the way."

I shake my head slightly. "Oh no, it's not Diego, sir. It's Sandra Wade, my female tribute, mentored by Mags Cohen. She's in danger, and my fellow mentor is running out of funds. I was hoping you would perhaps send her a weapon to defend herself. That's all she needs. She may be reaped, but she does have skill. She planned to volunteer when she was older, in fact."

Mr. Horace hesitates. "Yes, Miss Wade. She's young, and has the lowest odds out of all the remaining tributes. She certainly has no where near the skill level you did. However, because I like you, Mr. Odair, I'm willing to make a contribution. What is the girl's weapon of choice?"

"Knives, Sir," I say, trying not to grin to widely. "She prefers to fight with knives."

"Alright. I'll send a request right away. Have a good evening, Mr. Odair."

"You as well, Mr. Horace. And thank you." I shut down the hologram and dart back to Mags. I am just about to tell her the good news when I realize Mags is not in her chair. Instead, she has risen from it and is walking towards me. Her screen is black.

"M-Mags? What happened?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"The girl from Two found her. It's over, Finnick."

That's it. District Four will not have another victor. Not this year. I'm too late.

* * *

><p>Twelve days after the beginning of the sixty-sixth annual Hunger Games began, Mags and I are on a train back to District Four. The final began shortly after Sandra's death. The girl from One wandered into the boy from Ten's hideout. She died in the same way as the girl from Eleven. The girl from Two heard her scream, and ran straight to the area. She had a bit of trouble finding the right building, giving the boy from Ten time to hide his second victim's body behind a counter and retrieve his knife before scurrying back up to the rafters. He waits for his opponent to move under him before he attacks. Instead of throwing his knife down, however, the boy surprises everyone by jumping down on top of her. He has the advantage of surprise, while she has been trained. It is a tough fight, but in the end, Lanzo Desmin of District Ten is the victor of the sixty-sixth games. The four year long Career winning streak is over.<p>

When I return to Four, the air is hot and muggy. The sun shines brightly overhead, and no clouds are in sight. The train station isn't too crowd; only my mother, Sitka, my newfound friend, Lana, and the men in charge of loading fish and other seafood onto the train to be delivered back to the Capital mill around. I never expect my father to be there. He's a busy man. I'll see him tonight.

One look at my mother and I can tell something is off. Her eyes are dismal, red, and puffy, as if she has been crying. She wears a short sleeved black dress falling a few inches past her knees. Mom never wears black, and she rarely wears dresses.

As soon as I step off the train, Mom embraces me in her arms, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Finnick…"

"What is it, Mom?"

"You'd better sit down, sweetheart," she says, leading me to a bench. Sitka and Lana stand to the side. We sit side by side, one of my mother's hands on my back and the other on my lap. She is clearly struggling with whatever she has to say. A lump grows in my throat. I know deep down I won't like her words.

My mother takes a deep breath. "Finnick, there has been a terrible accident."


	19. Chapter 19: Lullaby

**Author note and disclaimer: The lullaby mentioned in this chapter is based on a beautiful song called "Seal Lullaby". The words are by Rudyard Kipling (author of **_**The Jungle Book**_**) and the music is by Eric Whitacre. I had the honor of playing it in high school band this past fall, and it is perhaps the most gorgeous piece I have ever heard. Because of it's lyrics, it sounded to me like a song that would be sung in District Four for generations, much like "The Hanging Tree" in District Twelve. The lyrics are below as the quote of the chapter, but if you ever have the chance, I recommend listening to it on YouTube or a sheet music site called JW Pepper (dot com). It's perfect mood music for the beginning and the end of this chapter.**

**Chapter 19: Lullaby**

_Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,_

_And black are the waters that sparkled so green._

_The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us_

_At rest in the hollows that rustle between._

_Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow;_

_Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!_

_The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,_

_Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas_

_Poem by Rudyard Kipling. Band and choir music added later by Eric Whitacre._

A heart attack. That is what the peacekeepers claim happened to my family after they found him lying dead on the floor of his office. I still cannot believe it. My father was a healthy man in his fifties. He ate right and was fit. There is no history that I know of of heart disease in our family. Mom cried when she told me. I don't think it makes sense to her either.

Funerals in Four are conducted by the mayor. Mom decided to keep Dad's small. He's an only child like I am, and his parents died when I was younger. All that's left is Mags, some of Dad's employees, and my parents' friends. I invite Sitka and Lana, hoping their presence will help me stay calm. The amount of people there comes to about thirty. The mayor starts the service, saying the traditional words that I still remember from all four of my grandparents' funerals. Then, he invites anyone who wants to say a few words up to speak. Naturally, my mother is the first one on the podium. She can't talk without tearing up, but tries her best to talk about how much my father meant to her. They were in love, my parents. I have never seen a love stronger, and after a while, Mom is sobbing, so I stand up and tap her arm, offering to take her place.

I look out into the crowd, not sure what to say that won't make me break down. I clear my throat awkwardly. "Growing up, I couldn't have asked for a better father. We were a close-knit family, but I was always my father's shadow. He's always been there, when I was happy or sad, and I never could imagine life without him. After I came home from the games, he helped me recover. The games is an experience like no other, and not in a way that the Capitol and the training center claim it to be. It changes a person negatively. When I was down in a dark place of my life, he picked me up. My father taught me to never give up, and that applies even now that he is… gone. My father wouldn't want anyone to give up. He'd want life to go on, both in his factory and in his home. And that's what I intend to do."

I sit back down, tears pricking at my eyes. I will not cry. Not here. I cried at home, but there are no more tears that I am going to let fall. As I said in my speech, my father wouldn't want that. My dad's best friend speaks. So does his assistant manager, the man who will be taking Dad's place. The mayor allows a few minutes of silence, but no one else stands up, so he passes my father's urn to my mother. As is tradition, my mother and I ride a boat a few hundred feet off shore near Saskawa's Point, one of Dad's favorite places in the district. There, Mom and I sprinkle Dad's ashes into the sea, burying him at the bottom of the ocean.

* * *

><p>Three months pass, and my sixteenth birthday comes and goes, along with summer. By late September, temperatures have dropped to a more comfortable degree than we have been having. Wanting me to keep up with my studies, Mom has made herself my private tutor. She does not give me an easy workload just because I no longer have to go to school. I actually don't mind; algebra and literature keeps my mind off Dad's passing, the Games, and President Snow.<p>

Another thing that takes my mind off the real world is my friends. Sitka is still deeply immersed in training, something I don't protest only because he always has a chance of being reaped, a chance that rises just a bit more the older he gets. I visit Nyle at the training center sometimes as well. He's still there, in case "l-lighting strikes tw-twice," as he puts it. His sister Nala is there as well, having one more reaping to go through. Sitka has decided to chase after her heart, but being two years older, Nala is having none of it.

Lana is the opposite of Sitka. While Sitka is always so absorbed in his training and will say very little when I come by, I distract Lana, and she stops training all together until a trainer yells at her. After regular training hours end, Lana and I usually walk home together, sometimes going to the beach before going 've been spending a lot of time together. She and I have grown very close over the last couple of months, maybe even closer than friends. She's been here for me even when Sitka has not. But being close to a victor is dangerous, and it makes me worry for her.

Some days, Lana and I just walk along the boardwalk, telling funny stories to each other. Today, I tell her the story of the time my hat fell into the ocean. "- and then, wouldn't you know it, plop! A sea turtle pops out of the water and takes my hat! I had to jump into the water in my clothes to get it back!"

Lana laughs. "You're great, Finnick. You know that?"

I smile slightly. "I know, but thanks."

Lana's quiet for a moment. "Hey, Finnick?"

"Hm?"

"Can we talk in private? Where no one can see us?"

An uneasy feeling comes over me, but I don't want to disappoint her. "Sure." I lead her up a winding path leading to Saskawa's Point. Up top is a lighthouse, which I lean against, trying to look casual. "What's wrong?"

Lana shakes her head. "It's nothing," she says. For once, the strong sixteen-year-old looks vulnerable. Her black hair blows wildly in the wind, and her green eyes are fixed on the rocky ground. Even now, she looks pretty. "I just want to say something away from prying eyes. You know I'm not good with feelings, Finnick."

"Right," I say, nodding in encouragement.

"So you know I mean what I say when I do," Lana says sharply, "and I want to say that I really like you, Finnick. I have for a while. And I just… have to know. Do you, uh, have a girlfriend."

I smile warmly. "No, not currently. Hard to believe, I know."

"Good. I wouldn't want to intrude," Lana pauses for a second. She pushes herself forward somewhat awkwardly. "I was wondering if you might… feel the same way?"

I hesitate. What would the Capitol do if they learned of my growing feelings for Lana? I take a deep breath. "I do, but Lana -"

I'm cut off by Lana's lips pressed against mine. Her kiss is warm, passionate, and not at all held back. As much as I flirt with Capitolites, it is my first kiss, unless you count one I gave on the cheek to a girl who slapped me in return when I was ten. No, this is different. I melt into the kiss, and Lana pushes herself closer to me. I place my hands on her waist, keeping our balance. As much as I don't want to, I force myself to break away.

"Lana, are you sure you want this?"

Lana frowns. "Of course I do. I don't just kiss anyone, Finnick. Do you?"

I squirm uncomfortably, knowing that if I accepted Snow's request, I'd be doing much more than just kissing anyone. "No, but… it's just I'm so… coveted in the Capitol. I don't want you to get hurt."

Lana rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Oh, please. Don't be so full of yourself. You're sexy as hell, but no one's going to hurt me for dating you. Besides, I'm not scared of those Capitolite freaks."

"Please, Lana," I say, trying to show my desperation in my voice. "I won't date you unless you promise to keep our relationship a secret."

Lana sighs. "Fine. Let's just go."

She walks back down the path, and I follow. I now have a girlfriend. Hopefully this turns out well and doesn't go down hill.

* * *

><p>As soon as I walk through the door, my mom is there to greet me, looking slightly pale and shaken up. "You have a visitor."<p>

"Really? Who?"

"President Snow," she says. "You'd better not keep him waiting. He's in the parlor."

I wince. _Shit._ No matter what the reason, President Snow being here cannot be good. I walk into the parlor warily. Sure enough, President Snow sets at the desk, white rose in hand. "Good evening, Mr. Odair. If you would, shut the door and take a seat."

Palms sweating, I do as he says. "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your father, Mr. Odair. I imagine he meant a lot to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sorry to bring this up, but I was hoping you'd reconsider my offer."

I shake my head. "My apologies, sir, but I still have no desire to be a prostitute. I'll serve you in nearly every way but that."

President Snow's lips tighten, as if he has just eaten something sour. "Perhaps this will change your mind." He places a holographic device on the desk and turns it on, showing an image of a man in a room. It is my father in his office.

"My father," I gasp. "How did you get this?"

"Quiet, Mr. Odair. You may miss some important information."

I shut up and turn my attention to the screen. A peacekeeper comes in. "Mr. Odair," he says. "There's a problem on level one."

Dad nods. "I'm on it." He leaves the room. A minute later, a second peacekeeper enters, and pours a small vial of clear liquid into Dad's coffee cup and leaves. The time at the bottom of the screen skips to about five minutes later, Dad returns, taking a sip of coffee. Time skips ahead six minutes, and Dad holds his hand to his chest and lets out a small groan. He closes his eyes and sways from side to side before toppling out of his chair and onto the cold, hard floor. I know what has happened, yet I can only stare at the horrific scene.

"Y-you killed him," I say, my voice quivering. "You poisoned my father!"

"Poisoned is such a strong word," says Snow. "I prefer to use the phrase, 'punished for your disobedience'. In fact, imagine what might happen to your poor mother if you continue to defy me. Or that lovely girl, Lana. Or your closest friends."

"You won't hurt them," I snap, hurt and betrayed. I thought I was supposed to be left alone after my victory. Not so.

"I will if you don't pledge your loyalty to me. This means doing whatever I say, including selling yourself for the good of the nation. Your choice, Mr. Odair. Sign here, or face the deaths of more people whom you love." He pushes a document towards me.

I bite my lip until it bleeds. President Snow didn't kill my father; I did. I will not make the same mistake again.

"Alright, I'll do it," I say shakily, and sign the document.

"Thank you," Snow says. "I'll see you in the Capitol starting on the tenth of January. You'd be wise to show up." He and the two peacekeepers acting as his body guards stride briskly out the door and out of my house. Peering out the parlor window, I see them get into a fancy black car I hadn't noticed on the way home. I feel like I'm going to faint, throw up, or both. Somehow, I manage not to be sick. As soon as the president's car is out of sight, I sprint out of the parlor.

"I'm going to Mags' " I call to my mother, trying to keep my voice steady. "Be back soon."

I don't want her to know. I can't bare her knowing that I caused her husband's untimely death, and that now I have to be a prostitute to avoid causing hers. There are few people who might be able to understand, and only one I feel fully comfortable talking to; Mags.

I bang on Mags' door more harshly than I originally meant to. She comes to the door almost immediately and pulls me gently inside, closing the door behind me. "I saw Snow's car. Is everything alright?"

I shake my head, because of course it's not. I try to speak, but no words come. My knees quiver, and I could probably pass out or collapse any minute. Mags gets me a chair and gives me a glass of water, waiting patiently for me to talk. Once I can, words come pouring out.

"Snow wanted be to sell my body in the Capitol, but I refused, and he… he killed my dad… He poisoned him, Mags. It's all my fault."

Mags arms envelope me in a hug. "Sh, it's not your fault."

"I'm scared, Mags," I whisper. "I-I'm not ready for sex. But he'll kill Mom and my friends if I don't obey. Maybe even you. But Mags… they're strangers. I can't do it… What am I going to do?" I'm shaking, tears spilling from my eyes.

"Finnick, calm down," Mags says soothingly. "Other victors have gone through this as well. You're not the only one."

But I can't calm down. I feel shaky and dizzy, and if I lift my glass of water to my lips, I end up spilling some of it. This may be my worst panic attack since my victory, and over something as simple as sex. Thinking freaking out is ridiculous only makes me more upset.

"_Oh, hush thee, my baby. The night is behind us." _Soft singing interrupts my thoughts. Mags' voice has grown shaky and off key, but I still recognize the song. It's the "Seal Lullaby", a song that has been song in District Four for generations and has been rumored to be written a good two-hundred and fifty to three-hundred years before the dark days. Mags, her cousin - my grandmother, Ariella - and my mother all sang it to me when I had bad dreams ever since I could remember. I'm about to tell her off and say that I'm too old, but strangely, I am still comforted by the song. So I keep quiet, resting my head against Mag's shoulder and crying silent tears.

"_The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas." _


	20. Chapter 20: Purity

**Author's Note: Past 100 reviews! Yay! Thanks so much guys!**

**This chapter is pushing the boundary between T and M. It's not even that bad, in my opinion, but I feel obligated to warn you. If anyone feels uncomfortable, please let me know, or just skip ahead. After all, we all know this happened from **_**Mockingjay**_**. **

**Warning: Sexual references ahead. No sex is actually described, but it is definitely implied, and events leading up to sex are shown. **

**Chapter 20: Purity**

_He who loves with purity considers not the gift of the lover, but the love of the giver._

_Thomas a Kempis, 15th century priest, monk, and writer_

I really didn't want to lose my virginity to a stranger. Instead, I choose to lose it to my girlfriend.

It happened New Year's Eve. We started out simply kissing, and progressed until we were both in our underwear. I asked if she wanted to take it farther. She said yes. She was ready for it, and had probably lost her virginity to someone else. I was not ready. Not in the slightest. Lana could tell.

"You were a virgin, weren't you," she said.

I gave her a weak smile. "Everyone's a virgin until their first time."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You know what I mean."

I hesitated, but nodded slightly.

"You were good for your first time," she had said.

The thing is though, I didn't want to be "good". Not yet. I wish I could go back to the time of innocence, but that will never happen now.

As I ride on the train on the way to the Capitol, I pace around from car to car. I know sleeping with a stranger will be totally different than sleeping with Lana. I'm afraid of messing up. What if a Capitolite buys me, and then reports to Snow that I was unsatisfactory? I don't want to think about it.

My train pulls in at nine-thirteen at night on January ninth, a day before my assignments are due to begin. Snow has sent a letter with my instructions. I am to stay at the Lenning Hotel, the grandest vacancy in all of Panem, where only the most famous and wealthy stay the night. Victors, Gamemakers, actors, singers, and people who are willing to spend thousands of dollars for a single night with a celebrity victor flock to the hotel. After I check in, I will be given a list of names of clients and their addresses. These names must be checked off by five a.m. the morning after Lanzo's capitol victory party of the twenty-sixth of January, giving me a little over two weeks to complete the list. I'll have to average about one or two people a night.

The train station is not crowded when I step off the train. It isn't long before someone takes notice of me and shrieks "It's Finnick Odair!" In no time, I have a swarm of Capitolites around me, all of them wanting an autograph, a photo, or even a kiss. I oblige to some of them as I make my way through the streets, planting kisses on hands and cheeks but certainly not the lips. I'd hate to think of how Lana would feel if she saw this. Of course, this flirting is nothing compared to what I will soon be doing, perhaps even with some of the people here at this train station.

Once at my hotel room, I am allowed a bit of time to relax. It's more of a deluxe apartment suite rather than a room, something I appreciate if I'm expected to be here for two weeks, although I may not be spending a lot of time in here. After a few minutes, an avox arrives with a sealed envelope from President Snow and a syringe.

"What's the syringe for?" I ask, which is pointless, since the avox can't speak. However, he can communicate with gestures, and does so by pointing to a note card sitting beside the syringe.

_A dose of contraceptive medication. Prevents unwanted pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases. Inject into the thigh parallel to the male reproductive organ at least four hours prior to sexual intercourse. One thirty milliliter dose is effective for __one_ _week. You are responsible for obtaining all addition doses. _

I set the syringe aside, planning to deal with it later. I don't like the idea of giving myself a shot, but I don't really have a choice. I can't count on the clients to use protection, and I don't want a baby that Snow can use against me, or worse, a disease. Inside the envelope is a letter once again explaining what is expected of me here in the Capitol. I am to start tomorrow night. On the second page, a list of names, phone numbers and addresses is provided. My instructions say to go through the clients in order. My eyes scan the first name.

_Aviana Deloria, 49274 Harmony Lane_

The name sounds familiar, but I just can't put my finger on it. Sighing, I fold up the letter and slide it back into its envelope. I can worry about Avianna and the others later.

* * *

><p>I arrive at 49274 Harmony Lane shivering, but not because I'm cold. I'm nervous. Will Aviana treat me like a human being, or a sex toy? I'm assuming since she bought my body like it's a possession to own, she's going to go with the latter.<p>

The door is opened by a woman with hot pink skin and hair. She has silver streaks in her hair and tattoos of black birds scattering her body. Suddenly, she emerges from my memories. She is one of the people who sponsored Diego. I vaguely remember her saying that I was almost legal. If only I had known then what she had meant.

"Oh, Finnick," she purrs. "Come in. Hurry now, I don't want anyone seeing you and trying to steal you away from me."

I enter her home and close the door behind me. "Good evening, Ms. Delora. You look wonderful this evening.

"Oh thank you. We might as well get started right away. I've been waiting months for you! You know it's not too easy to get a date when you're in your fifties," She says, shrugging off her robe and exposing her naked body.

I try to conceal my horrified reaction. Fifties?! She's my mother's age, possibly older. "You're in your fifties?"

Aviana nods. "Yes, barely. I'm fifty-two."

"You don't look it," I say, winking.

Aviana giggles. "Oh, you're too kind. I try." She turns away from me, waving her hand seductively. "Well, aren't you coming?"

I nod, shrugging off my suit's jacket and unbuttoning the shirt about halfway. I try to seem excited and turned on by her body, while on the inside, I'm freaking out. I'm too young. I don't want this. I have to do everything in my power to hide my anxiety. I'm lucky I'm a good actor.

Aviana's bedroom is, not surprisingly, pink. One entire side wall is a giant mirror, reminding me of a ballet studio. The other side wall is dedicated to fashion and includes a walk-in closet, two dressers, a vanity table complete with another mirror, and even a rack containing only shoes. The front wall is used as space for a hologram screen. A plush, king-sized bed is centered along the back wall, with pictures of other Capitolites hanging in frames on either side. Great. Now I'm going to feel like all Aviana's friends and relatives are going to be watching our every move.

Aviana climbs onto the bed and splays her legs. "Come on," she moans. "I need a piece of you. Now."

Not wanting to disappoint her, I pull off my shoes and socks. I crawl onto the bed and straddle her, pants still on, one leg on each side. Aviana yanks me closer, and roughly plants a kiss on my lips. "Let's get this party started."

She's rough, practically ripping off my shirt so fast I'm surprised it didn't tear and tosses it aside. Her lips trail sloppily across my chest and down my sides before making their way back up and sucking on the skin around my left shoulder. "Touch me, Finnick," Aviana says. "Don't be shy."

I do as she says, running my hands across her back and breasts and down her sides while following with my lips. Aviana continues to kiss down my chest to my stomach. She unbuttons my pants and yanks them off, flinging them aside along with my underwear. I continue kissing and touching her, letting her lead, while never going farther than she does. I kiss her lips, her stomach, and everything in between. Then she moves her lips below my waist, making me feel awkward and violated. I want to kick her or scream or beg her to stop, but I can't. If she were Lana or any other girl back home, I would have. When she has had her fill, she pulls me on top of her.

"Don't hold anything back, alright?" She asks, peering up at me with lust in her eyes. "I hope you don't mind if I take the lead."

"Perfect," I purr. "I think that's sexy."

Everything that happens beyond this point I know I will wish I could take back, but I'll never be able to. This is the point of no return.

* * *

><p>I sit in the shower with my head buried in my knees, the steaming hot water soaking my body and turning my skin red and tender. It burns, but I don't care. I feel filthy, like I'll never be clean again. I've had about a week of sleeping with a different partner every time, and I am already tired of it. I don't know how I'm going to make it through another week, let alone decades more of this torture.<p>

I try to be passionate. I do. But it's hard for me to have sex with someone I don't love. Luckily, if anything was lacking, no one seemed to notice. Right before she fell asleep, Aviana had told me that she had had a wonderful time. I managed to gather my clothes and slip out around two in the morning. Many of the other women, ranging in age from eighteen to the mid thirties, were the same way. Despite this, I don't think I'll ever get used to selling my body as if it's not even mine.

Another week of jumping from woman to woman passes. It is the night of Lanzo Desmin's victory party. My deadline is five a.m tomorrow, leaving me eight hours to get through four more clients. Luckily, Capitolites parties last throughout the night, and I have arranged to meet all four clients some time during the night. Each of them have paid a smaller price for me, only spending enough money to have me for an hour or two, and they know that. They will expect me to have to leave, and they can't complain about it. They know that if they want me for longer next time, they'll have to pay more.

During the day, nine to five is an average Capitolite businessman's working hours, but at night, nine to five is an average party duration. Lanzo will arrive in the Capitol at around 7:00, where he will be served an elaborate dinner. At 8:00, he has his interview with Caesar. He's withdrawn, barely wanting to talk, with Caesar prompting him the entire interview. He's broken. It's funny how now that I know what being broken looks and feels like, I can spot it inside anyone. At 9:00, the party starts.

Before I seek out my clients, I make my way to Lanzo to introduce myself, as is customary for the previous victor. Cashmere, victor of the sixty-fourth games, did so with me, but I was probably already drunk at the time and don't remember half of it. The hangover the following morning is the reason I haven't been drunk since then.

"Welcome to the club of victors," I say cheerfully as I walk up to Lanzo. He jumps a little, seeming surprised to see me.

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

"No problem," I say with a smile. "Enjoy the life of luxury."

Lanzo leans in, keeping his voice hushed. "Look, I didn't ask for this like you did. I didn't ask for a life of 'luxury', as you put it. All I wanted was to live. Now I'm not sure if it's even worth it."

"Sometimes, you have to fake it to you make it. Whether we ask for it or not, we are all in the same boat. Most of us regret our actions, but we deal with it in different ways. You should make some friends. It helps."

Lanzo shrugs. "Guess I'm just not the social sort. Especially not now, after the games."

"Well, if you ever need me, I'm here," I say. I give him a wave before setting off to find my clients.

I pass through each buyer quickly, trying not to pay attention to any detail besides their name. I don't drink a drop of alcohol, though my three client is far past being sober. After I finish with the fourth and final client at four-thirty in the morning, I can barely stumble around in exhaustion. I just want to go to sleep, but I have to check in with Snow at seven before my train leaves. Before I head back to my room for a two hour nap, a quick shower, and a change of clothes, I catch a glimpse of Lanzo, passed out at a table, his escort trying in vain to get him to move.

"Pathetic, isn't it," Cashmere of District One says. She must have sneaked up on me in my dazed state. "Kid can't hold his alcohol at all. I'd say he was drunk by eleven, and man, he's the loudest drunk I've ever seen. I think he would have been kicked out if he wasn't the star of the party. He passed out around an hour or two ago."

I shake my head in pity. "Poor guy."

If anything is strong enough to break a person, it's the Hunger Games, either during the storm itself, or in its aftermath.


	21. Chapter 21: Hurt

**Author's note: Hey guys! Sorry it's been almost two months. Life is chaotic! Anyway, we're getting close to the end of the story. I'm thinking there is probably around four chapters left. I'm going to be skipping around a lot time-wise. Hopefully that's fine. **

**Chapter 21: Hurt**

"_Hurt me with the truth, but never comfort me with a lie." _

About a month prior to the reaping of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games, a victor's meeting is held in the Justice Building. It includes the mayor, all five surviving victors, and a representative diplomat from the Capitol who goes by the name of Mr. Davies. Mags and I are the first to arrive, and Marissa lumbers in sluggishly after us.

"Not even nine o'clock in the morning, and I'm already sweating like a pig," she grumbles. "Why did I decide to give birth over the summer?"

Mags gives her a sympathetic smile. "Pregnancy troubles?"

Marissa slides into her chair and rests her hands on her stomach, which is rounded from seven months of pregnancy. She sighs. "Not on its own, but this heat is making me miserable."

"Quit your whining," Thunder Martin, victor of the forty-sixth Games says as he swaggers into to the room. "This is District Four. We're all hot here, both in the temperature and the attractiveness sense."

Mags and Marissa ignore him and continue to talk about Marissa's current pregnancy symptoms. At five minutes to nine the mayor and a man who is snazzily dressed in silver and gold walk in.

"Good morning," the mayor says as he skims the room with his eyes. "Has anyone seen Ray Dovern?"

We all shake our heads.

"Should we really be surprised?" asks Thunder. "Old man Dovern is worse at showing up at these things than I am, let alone on time."

"Well, perhaps one of you could do me the courtesy of fetching him," Mr. Davies says. "I'd hate to ask the peacekeepers to use force. That wastes time and energy."

Thunder leans back in his chair and slams his feet onto the table top. "No way in hell I'm dragging that man's ass out of his house in this heat. It's a miracle I'm here at all."

"Watch your tongue. Unless you want to lose it," Mr. Davies warns.

I glance from one of my fellow mentors to the other. One is seventy-two years old. The other is seven-months pregnant. "I'll go, because I'm such a gentleman," I say, directing my gaze towards Thunder.

As I step outside, the heat hits me like a tidal wave. It's an oven out here, and I feel as though I'm burning to a crisp. I head to Victor's village but stop halfway when I see Ray trudging in my direction.

"Hey Dovern," I say. "You do realize everyone is waiting for you, right?"

Ray grunts. "Who cares? I've spent the whole morning coughing up blood and wondering what's going to kill me first, lung cancer or liver failure, and they don't care. Why should I?"

I fall silent for a moment. Ray's symptoms are just another side effect of the games, caused by both smoking and drinking to try to rid himself of the pain. I can't say I really blame him.

"Come on, let's just go," I mutter and return to the Justice Building. Ray and I take our places at the table, and the meeting commences.

"First order of business is the sixty-seventh Hunger Games," says Mr. Davies. "Will we be expecting volunteers from District Four this year?"

Thunder nods. "Most likely."

"Excellent. The Capitol is pleased when the volunteer alliance is six members strong, rather than four or five," Mr. Davies says, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "Mr. Odair, you know your presence is requested in the Capitol again this year?"

I nod. "Of course."

"In addition, it has been requested by President Snow that Ms. Cohen retires from the Games for this year. We will be installing a rotation system, in which Mr. Dovern, Mr. Martin, Ms. Swan, and Ms. Cohen will take turns mentor. It's what most other districts do."

I see Mags sink a little in her chair, and remember her saying that being a mentor makes her feel useful. "Why?" I ask.

"The Capitol citizens are growing tired of the same mentor year after year, especially such an elderly woman," Mr. Davies says. "Mr. Dovern will take his turn this year, followed by Mr. Martin for the sixty-eighth and Ms. Swan for the sixty-ninth. Ms. Cohen may mentor again for the seventieth games before the cycle starts over.

I want to inform him take Mags would always better be a better choice over Ray. She's brought home more victors, will stay sober, and is easier to work with, whether as a fellow mentor or a sponsor. However, arguing with Capitol citizens is not done. Mr. Davies may not be as powerful as Snow, but he still doesn't like to be mouthed off to. He could always report me to Snow.

The meeting continues, with talk of how our lives are going - we are all far from honest with our answers - and if we require anything in terms of riches and if anything in our mansions needs repair. We are dismissed by 9:30.

"Are you disappointed in not being able to mentor this year?" I ask Mags as we walk back home.

"A little," she admits, "but maybe it is time to semi retire. I've done this for more than fifty years after all.

I leave it at that. It will be strange not having Mags by my side during the Games. It seems I have grown reliant on my mentor. Perhaps a bit too much.

* * *

><p>As predicted, there are two eighteen-year-old volunteers this year, Michelle Hargrove and Anchor Greene. While the tributes say goodbye to their family and friends, I do the same. At least I know I'm coming home. Sitka treats my departure like any other day. My mom gives me a strong hug as if she expects me to be gone for months. Mags wishes me luck. Lana kisses me and tells me to come back home soon. I tell her that'd I'd try my best, but we both know it's not that simple.<p>

I board the train without having any clue what to expect. I find the tributes already there, with Michelle explaining her games strategy.

"I don't care what One and Two say. I'm leading the careers," she says snobbishly.

Anchor nods along, not saying much.

"Alright," I say, interrupting the conversation. "Anchor, you're with me. Michelle, you'll be mentored by Ray Dovern. He's probably in the dining car."

Michelle shrugs. "Fine. I don't need a mentor anyway. I'm winning this on my on." She leaves, and Anchor and I are able to talk alone.

"So, the famous Finnick Odair," says Anchor, leaning back in his chair. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

Anchor smiles a little. "You know, before you came in, Michelle wouldn't stop whining about the mentors this year, how we were stuck with a drunk and the Capitol's sixteen-year-old pretty boy toy. Her words, not mine. Don't kill the messenger. Anyway, I disagree. I hope to learn a lot from you. You did win the games after all. It is a little strange to be mentored by someone who is two years younger than myself though."

"Can't say I blame you," I admit, "but thanks. Listen to me, but know you don't have to follow all my advice. Pick and choose what information you want to use. All I expect is respect."

As the events leading up to the Games progress, respect is exactly what I receive from Anchor. He asks questions frequently, while offering suggestions of his own, asking me for a second opinion on his strategies. It's a welcome change from last year.

The Games progress at a fast pace, and soon I am sending Anchor into the arena. The arena is a circular hedge maze, with twists and turns and the Cornucopia in the middle. It would be easy to get lost inside.

Surprisingly, Michelle dies right after the bloodbath, the last of the nine tributes to die in the first few minutes. Unsurprisingly, it is her arrogance that kills her. Michelle may be brutal, but the boy from Two is more so. From the start, Michelle wanted to lead the alliance, something that did not go over well with Caius, the strong eighteen year old from Two. He wanted power, and Michelle was standing in the way. He quickly took care of her.

Anchor, meanwhile, takes my advice and stays on Caius's good side. This strategy works, until Night Four, when the Careers get lost in the maze. Caius forces Anchor to take the lead as they try to find their way back in the dark. Anchor accidentally wanders straight into a tracker jackers' nest, and is doomed from there. He is abandoned by his alliance, much like Merit was during my Games. My screen goes black, yet I still have to watch the action being shown on the main screen. The boy from One also receives a few strings, and he dies a few hours later when Caius grows tired of his hallucination-caused screams.

I'm not sure how the rest of the Careers die, since I'm too busy with clients most of the time to pay much attention. With a weakened force and a leader who only worries about himself, they eventually all perish. In the end, the girl from Seven, seventeen-year-old Geneva Ryser is crowned victor after her former ally dies of a stab wound inflicted by the girl from One. Together, she and her ally were responsible for five deaths.

Since both tributes from District Four died fairly early, I manage to get through my list of clients more quickly than expected. I even had time to walk hand in hand in public with some of them if they so requested it, right in front of the cameras.

I arrive home a full three days earlier than expected. I don't call Lana ahead of time. I want to surprise her, and besides, the train might be bugged. As to be expected, no one is waiting for me at the station. No one knows I'm here. I step off the train alone, and greet a few lone people, mostly men loading seafood onto freight cars to be transported to the Capitol. I pick up my bags and make Lana's house my first stop. It will nice to be able to kiss the one girl I actually care about again, rather than a complete stranger.

I am about to ring the doorbell when I hear giggling coming from the side of the house. Curious, I set down my suitcase and creep around the corner of the Ramaro house to investigate. I find my girlfriend there, leaning against the wall, her long hair falling messily around her shoulders. She's not alone. She's kissing another boy. All at once, my brain stops functioning, and all I can do is stare, not comprehending what I'm seeing.

I'm not sure how much time has passed before she notices me. When she does, her face turns bright red, and she lightly nudges the boy away from her. Her eyes are red, either from lack of sleep, crying, or both.

"F-Finnick?" She slurs slightly, sounding a little bit drunk.

"Shit. I think this is my cue to leave," the boy says before jogging off.

I don't care about him, though.

I try to keep my voice steady as I begin to speak. "How could you? You know that stuff with the Capitol women… you know that's not real, right?"

"Finnick, I can explain," Lana starts, but I won't let her finish.

"Don't bother," I say, my voice low and cold. "I don't want to hear it."

I whip around and scoop up my suitcase, briskly walking off the Ramaro family's property. I ignore Lana's anguished cries. She doesn't follow me. She knows better than that.

"Finnick, wait! Please!"

I won't stop. I can't. I've felt so many negative feelings in the past few years of my life. I've been manipulated, broken, and abused, but never have I ever felt so betrayed.

**Author's note: Kind of choppy and kind of a filler, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. :)**

**For those of you who never liked Lana… guess you now have a reason. For those who did, are you surprised?**

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	22. Chapter 22: Apologize

**Author's Note: Only two or three more chapters left including this one! We're nearing the end. Can we reach 150 reviews? I hope so. **

**To a kind Guest by the name of "Fire" (and anyone else who is interested): This was left in my reviews: **"**love all the stories next you should right about Annie and finnick". Since I can't send you a PM, I thought I'd let you know that actually, I already have written about Finnick/Annie. Their story is called "Wipe Away the Tears" and can be considered a sequel for anyone who wants one. Because I wrote it before starting CoT, some events don't line up with this story, but it's time consuming to make sure both stories blend together (as much as I've already tried). Really, I could combine them into one, but I didn't think of that, so they shall stay as two.**

**Sorry if I bored you with that note. Onto the final curve of the story.**

**Chapter 22: Apologize**

"_I'll do whatever it takes_

_To turn this around_

_I know what's at stake_

_I know that I've let you down_

_And if you give me a chance_

_Believe that I can change_

_I'll keep us together whatever it takes__."_

- lyrics from "Whatever It Takes" by Lifehouse, 2007

"Every storm runs out of rain," my father used to say. "You just have to wait for the blue sky to reappear. You may even end up with a rainbow."

I never really understood my father's metaphors when I was younger, but now they are perfectly clear. It may be true that every hardship will eventually end, but recently, storms seem to be present more frequently than calm weather. I miss the blue skies and innocence of childhood.

By the time the reaping of the 68th Hunger Games rolls around, it seems as though I have only just returned from the Capitol. On reaping day, high humidity causes fog to rise eerily above the ocean and thunder rumbles in the distance. As I step outside the walls of my mansion, I think to pick up an umbrella on the way out. I take my place on stage at the justice building just as fat raindrops begin to fall, splattering as they hit the cement. Not more than five minutes later, the rain falls faster until the crowd is no longer in a shower, but a downpour. Those without an umbrella or rain gear hang their heads in misery. The rain fits the mood of the reaping perfectly.

Crysta looks ridiculous in an over-sized raincoat and an umbrella that can cover not only herself, but both tributes as well. She turns her mouth over into a slight frown as she steps up to the microphone after the annual video comes to an end.

"Dreary weather isn't it, District Four?" She asks and ignores the lack of response. "Let's choose our female first, shall we?"

Crysta hand reaches in to the reaping bowl, and she quickly plucks out a slip from the surface. Normally, she takes her time for dramatic effect, but not today. She wants to be out of the rain as much as the rest of us. She unfolds the slip and reads the name aloud.

"Coral Michels!"

"I volunteer!"

I stiffen at the voice, coming from the eighteen-year-old section. I may not have seen Lana Ramaro for six months, but she has changed little in that time. Having no competition for the tribute position, Lana takes her time, striding confidently up to the stage with her head held high in typical Lana fashion. I meanwhile stare straight at the cameras, hoping I can keep my face void of an emotion.

"Wonderful!" Crysta exclaims when Lana arrives beside her. "What's your name, dear?"

"Lana Ramaro!" Lana replies, flashing a cheerful smile.

As Crysta draws the male tribute's name, Lana glances over her shoulder at me, searching for eye contact. I'm so concentrated on avoiding her eyes that I miss the name. Or maybe Crysta didn't have time to call one before an eager voice volunteers, the voice I have dreaded hearing for three years in a row.

Sitka Holland has no one to fight for the position of the male tribute, and even if he did, he's quick on his feet. He leaps onto the stage, leans into the microphone, and says, "Sitka Holland here, eager to represent District Four in the sixty-eighth Hunger Games!"

The crowd applauds politely, some out of respects, others out of relief that they or their children are safe for another year. I, on the other hand, stay frozen in my seat. Then, realizing I have an appearance to keep, I flash a proud smile across the stage to Sitka. While dating Lana was a secret, the entire nation knows Sitka Holland as my best friend. I should be swelling with pride, happy for him even. All I feel, however, is loss. Not necessarily loss to death. Sitka will not die if I can help it, but as I know all too, even if he does survive, he will never be the same. With any possible outcome, I have lost at minimum a piece of my best friend, and I'm expected to take it with a smile.

I keep my goodbyes to Mom and Mags brief, not sure if I can hold my emotions together in front of them. When ready, I board the train with Thunder, who heads straight to the dining car. As for me, my stomach is turning too much to eat much of anything. Instead, I plop down in a chair with my knees drawn to my chest and my head buried in my hands.

Sitka enters the train first. "Dude, Nala Degardi came to say goodbye! She says she's made it her tradition to wish everyone good luck since you volunteered, but still…" Sitka pauses his excited chatter as he notices my distress. "Hey, what's wrong?"

My head snaps up to look him directly in the eyes. "What do you think is wrong?" I hiss. "How many times have I begged you to think twice about this?"

"I know," Sitka replies, "and I'm still sure. Finnick, this has been my dream since we were little. I've never been so sure of something in my life. Besides, our friendship hasn't been the same since you left for the Games, and you know it. I want things to go back to normal."

"Can't you see?" I ask, my voice cracking. "_I'm_ not the same. I'm broken, Sitka, and the last thing I want is for you to go through what I did."

"Maybe you were just too young," Sitka replies coldly, his words slapping me in the face. "Maybe I can handle the pressure better. Maybe I was always more cut out for the Games than you. Did you ever think about that?"

I stare at him for a moment, considering possible reactions and wondering how to continue my useless argument. Before any real solution comes to mind, the door opens, and Lana steps inside with Crysta not far behind. My ex-girlfriend twists her fingers together and bites her lip as she scans the train car for me, her eyes locking in place as they meet mine.

"Finnick, I'm sorry," Lana says.

"Thunder is in the dining car. It's the door on your right." I don't mean to be rude, but right now, I can barely deal with having to save my best friend, let alone manage my emotions around the girl who broke my heart. The cowardly part of me says to hide in my room and let both of them fend for themselves. The mature part forces me to remain in my place.

Clearly, Lana is expecting a different response, judging by her moment of silence. "...What?"

"Thunder is in the dining car," I repeat, not bothering to keep the emotional exhaustion from my voice. "I'm sorry, but I can only focus my attention on one of you, and takes going to have to be Sitka."

Lana's whole body seems to sag in disappointment. "Fine, but _will_ talk later," she says, stepping into the dining car and sliding the door shut behind her.

"Well, that was awkward," mutters Sitka. Noticing my sharp glare, he sighs a little. "Guess you're not in the mood to talk to me right now either, huh?"

"Not especially," I grumble, still irritated with him, and he's smart enough to leave it at that.

I now, more than ever, realize Sitka still thinks this is a game, that our innocent, naive plan formulated at the age of nine to both fight our way to victory would hold true, despite all my misery and bitterness plainly shown towards the subject. At the same time, I wonder if he has a point. Maybe I _am_ weak and I can't handle this, where as Sitka will be much stronger than I could ever be. Then I remember Mags saying most victors are like me, broken and full of remorse for what they've done, even the seventeen and eighteen-year-old volunteers. Victory is usually no where close to what is expected. You are not immune to pain and suffering. If anything, victors are more susceptible, because Snow can herd them close enough to see inside their minds and hearts and souls. The life of a Hunger Games survivor is only understandable by a victor themselves. Sitka may try, but he will not understand my frustration until he is living in the same glass bowl only sixty-seven people before him have experienced. Either that, or he will be dead.

* * *

><p>I lie on my back on my exclusively plushy bed in the tribute center, holding a spiral notebook above my head as I study Sitka and Lana's competition. My list of clients for the next couple of weeks has been careless tossed to the side to be temporarily ignored. I may be shooting myself in the foot for not turning my attention to it sooner, but after my temper cooled down, my determination to save Sitka grew to surpass any urgency I've shown towards any of my tributes in the past. That includes a lot of time and effort on my part, finding sponsors and preparing Sitka with all the knowledge I have, not sleeping with strangers. If focusing most of my time on Sitka means staying in the Capitol a bit longer, than so be it. If - <em>when<em> - he wins, I'll likely have to hang around for at least a few more days anyway.

Like me, Sitka is definitely capable of drawing people in before I, as his mentor, can even say a word about him. His smile is catchy, and he's attractive enough to make women and a few men swoon. He and Lana have already managed to attract a substantial amount of interest. After the parade, the three of us, along with Thunder, Crysta, and the stylists had eaten dinner and watched the reaping recaps before heading off to our separate room. I am now taking the time to analyze the other tributes, something I advised Sitka to do as well so we could compare notes in the morning.

I reflect back to the recaps. The female from One struck my interest right away. Her name was Medallion Breckenridge, and like many from her district, she looked tall and tan, with wavy dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her appearance was not what causes her to stand out, however. To me, all it took was her last name, a name so familiar to me, to capture my attention. The girl one the screen, Medallion Breckenridge, was almost certainly the younger sister I've heard about in the stories of former ally, Merit. Images of a smiling, collected young woman flowed back to me, despite Medallion seeming much more stern than her older sister. I had closed my eyes for a moment as I attempted to push my memories to the side. If I was to help Sitka, I needed to concentrate on him, not on memories of a deceased ally and her living sister. Dempsey, District One's tribute, stood tall and proud. From District Two, two identical girls, most likely twins, raced each other to the stage. One, who announced her name as Antonia, punched her sister for the opportunity to volunteer. The male, Drusus, or Dru as he insisted on being called, seemed extremely pumped to be in the Games as he showed by whooping and hollering, much to his escort's annoyance.

Outside of the careers, most of the other tributes seem younger, scrawnier, and weaker than most years. The competition doesn't appear to be too tough, but I don't want to underestimate anyone. Scanning the list, I decide the biggest threats to Sitka in addition to his allies would be a fit, healthy eighteen-year-old male from Five, and a tall seventeen-year-old female from Nine.

I jump slightly at an abrupt knock at my door. I call for the person to come in, expecting Sitka. It's not Sitka who enters, but Lana.

"Is this a bad time?" She asks.

I shake my head. "No, I guess not."

Lana sits on the edge of the bed, as if afraid she might need a quick getaway. "I think we should talk."

I shrug. "What is there to talk about? You betray my trust. Then you volunteer. Do my feelings even matter to you?"

She winces at the sting of my words. "I'm sorry, Finnick. Truly, I am. I volunteered to make it up to you. I thought I could gain your attention and win you back. I didn't know Sitka was going to volunteer as well."

I don't want to answer her. I don't want to have to tell her that I've moved on, that my heart never really recovered. After a moment of silence, I ask, "Why did you do it?"

"Volunteer? Or…?"

"Cheat."

"I know it was wrong, and immature," she mutters. "but I was jealous by all the Capitol girls you had clinging onto your arms, and I was stupid. I was under the impression that you didn't care about me enough. I made bad choices, and under the influence of alcohol, I made even more poor choices. I've been beating myself up over this. I wish I could take it all back. I mean it. I'm so sorry, and you don't know how hard it is to apologize for anything and admit my faults. I'll do whatever it takes to regain your trust, I swear. I know I hurt you, but please give me a chance. I'll change. I've already been working on it."

I sigh. "Alcohol isn't an excuse, Lana. You know, my father used to say that alcohol doesn't make you do things you wouldn't normally do, it just brings out a different side of you and makes you more likely to do those things. I can't just forget about what you did and fall back into your arms."

"Can you at least forgive me enough to be friends again," Lana asks me.

"You're going into the Games. We should leave the past behind us. The romance, the cheating, everything. So yes, I'm going to have to, even if I didn't want to."

Lana lips form the tiniest sliver of a smile. "Then maybe someday after the Games, you'll forgive me enough to get back together, if I'm lucky. I still love you, Finnick."

"Maybe," I mutter, "but keep in mind that if you win the Games, it will mean my best friend is dead, and I can't guarantee I will be able to stop myself from viewing you more negatively."

Lana slowly nods as she stands from the bed. "I understand. Goodnight, Finnick," she says and slips out of the room.

I sigh, setting my notebook on the dresser, switching off the light, and sliding under the covers. In a matter of days, both my ex-girlfriend and best friend will be going into the arena. I only hope we all are ready for that day when it arrives.


	23. Chapter 23: Float

**Author's note: Only one more chapter after this! I was considering combining the chapters into one, but that would have been much too long. It already kind of is. :) Anyway, the final chapter will come sometime in August, hopefully **_**before**_ **I head off to college on the 21st.**

**About that quote… doesn't really fit the chapter, but I couldn't find one that did, so I thought I'd just go with that one because it was kind of funny. **

**Chapter 23: Float**

_When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream._

_John Lennon, singer/songwriter_

As I prepare Sitka to enter the arena, we can't help but mess around, despite the seriousness of the situation. My advice is serious, of course. Sitka soaks in everything I tell him and offers his own ideas. We work well as a team, just like old times. Hope builds inside me, another layer of faith added each day. The pair of us seem invincible, at least on the surface. In the back of my mind though, strategy and reason is still forcing me to remember why we are here and of what I need to do. There is still so much work that needs to be done.

While Sitka and Lana are at training, Thunder and I seek out sponsors. More accurately, _I_ seek out sponsors, while Thunder drinks and parties. I take it upon myself to find sponsors for both Sitka and Lana. Sitka, of course, is my top priority. Some Capitol citizens are only willing to sponsor one tribute. Others, mostly my biggest fans who would sponsor a flounder if I asked them to, jump right on board with sponsoring both.

Occasionally, I kill two birds with one stone when I make a deal with a client. Some Capitolites are more likely to reward me with sponsor money after a satisfying sex session. Fair payment, as they say. Lately, more and more men have purchased the right to spend quality time with the great Finnick Odair. I suppose word has spread to all non-straight men in the Capitol that I "willingly" sleep with men. I probably have the reputation of being bi or pansexual, which, although I would have nothing against it, isn't true. My first male client had the unisex name of Agrippa, and therefore was a bit of a shock to me as I tried to hide just how uncomfortable I was. By this point, I have gotten used to sleeping with a member of my own gender, at least as used to it as I am with sleeping with women. When I think about it, the fact that prostitution has become part of my average routine while here in the Capitol is sad. I immediately go back to feeling disgusting and dirty after the thought.

As I talk with clients and potential sponsors, I realize Sitka is already immensely popular, perhaps almost as popular as I am. He's so popular, I'm worried about the demand for him if he wins the Games. I debate warning him about the slave Snow forces me to be, but decide against it. There's no point in working him up now. I'll worry about it when the time comes.

While I go through my routine, Sitka goes through his. He presents a daily report to me each night at dinner on the other tributes, mainly his allies.

"Dru, the boy from Two, has no interest in being the leader and neither does Medallion," Sitka tells me. "So I think it's between me and Dempsey. Unless you have an interest, Lana?"

Lana shakes her head. "No way. Too much work and bother for me. Have fun though."

"What have you two learned about your allies?" I ask.

"Dempsey isn't afraid to show his confidence, that's for sure," says Sitka, "but at least he's tolerable. Unlike Drusus, who's always showing off and making noise."

"So annoying," Lana adds, scooping chocolate pudding into her mouth.

Sitka sends her an annoyed look for interrupting, one that is either unnoticed or ignored. "Anyway, Antonia is so moody and prefers to keep to herself. I'm surprised she even wants to be allied with us at all." He pauses, as if looking for an explanation.

"And Medallion?"

"What, do you think she's hot?" Sitka asks, which causes Lana to stiffen. I ignore her to glare at the joker I call my best friend. "Not a time for hot girl talk? Fine then. She's okay, I guess. She's way different from your stereotypical One girl, but even more different from Merit, from what I saw of her from your Games, less laidback and more strict."

I nod. "Good start. Just remember that not everything is always as it seems and people can turn out differently than how you expect."

Sitka nods and the conversation is ended.

The next few days pass quickly. During the interviews, Sitka's energy comes naturally, and none of his personality is faked. He is a crowd favorite, along with Lana, who presents a sassy, yet likable angle. Both clearly mean business, and the audience seems very interested in what they have to say.

I feel as though I should say something to Sitka, but what is the right thing to say to a best friend whom I may never see again. I think back to when Mags sent me off to the arena. Mags had attempted to calm my nerves, but if Sitka is at all nervous, he doesn't show it. I decide the best option would be to carry on as normal. I've given all the advice I have to give. It's up to him to use it.

I wish good luck to both Sitka and Lana before Crysta rushes them off to bed. Thunder hits the sponsor's lounge to drink. As for me, I decide to get some clients out of the way. It's not like I'll be getting much sleep anyway. Might as well do something productive.

* * *

><p>Even to my experienced swimmer and fisherman eyes, I have troubling distinguishing this year's arena's features. The arena is fully underwater, a fact that I recognize from the start. The Cornucopia, despite being shaped like a giant conch and the 875 foot or so long sunken pirate ship, decked out with multiple floors and cabins to explore, are not as easy to comprehend due to the decreased visibility thanks to the water. Once I am able to make them out, their forms are clear in my mind. Around the ship and Cornucopia, brightly colored fish happily dart around towering spires of coral without a care in the world. Around the area, the water isn't very deep, maybe around twenty feet or so, but swim out a few hundred yards, and the ocean drops off into a deep ravine, where dangerous predators surely lurk.<p>

Instead of rising from the ground as they usually do, tributes are lowered to the ocean floor in long tubes descending from hovercrafts up above. They are dressed in fully equipped scuba diving gear, complete with two full oxygen tanks. Each tribute has their district number plus M for male or F for female labelled on their backs. I quickly spot 4M next to 9F and 6F and 4F five tributes down besides 11F and 1M. The gong sounds, and the action erupts. The bloodbath is quick, as most tributes do not know how to swim, and running on the ocean floor is next to impossible. Twelve are dead in the first ten minutes, the biggest number of bloodbath tributes in the past several years. Sitka makes three kills, the most so far of any tribute, while Lana makes two. The other four Careers make a combined total of five. The six Careers account for exactly half of the remaining tributes. The girl from Three, the boy from Five, both from Seven, the girl from Eight, and the boy from Ten are the only other tributes left. The Career alliance settles in the the main body of the sunken ship, taking inventory of their supplies as the underwater arena grows darker.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm not leaving this ship after dark," Demsey says, his voice echoing as he speaks through a device attached to his mask that allows his allies to hear him.

"That would be suicidal," Sitka replies. "We don't know what's out there and have no light source,"

"So we're just supposed to sit here?" Drusus says. "That's boring!"

"You go out there, then," mutters Antonia. The girl from Two is obviously the weakest swimmer, most likely never bothering to use the pool in District Two's academy, and she is in a sour mood due to being at a disadvantage.

"If we're not going out, I'd like to get to sleep," Medallion says. "I want to be well rested in the morning."

The main screen switches to other tributes as the careers attempt to settle down in comfortable positions. Thinking Sitka's safe for now, I glance up at the main screen to check up on the other tributes. The boys from Five and Seven are the only other alliance besides the Careers. They have taken cover behind the coral reef. The girl from Three is keeping a close eye on the Careers, while the girls from Seven and Eight and the boy from Ten hide out in different parts of the ship. At about Eleven pm, I leave my screen in the hands of Thunder to take care of a client or two and hopefully catch a few hours of sleep.

The morning hours bring not only sunlight, but problems to the tributes. One by one, the tributes slowly begin running out of oxygen in their tanks. The Careers are the first to notice.

"Maybe we can refill on the surface," Sitka suggests. "There has to be something up there."

"I'm going up," says Dru, and begins shooting towards the surface.

Lana calls after him. "Wait! You can't just go up there!"

To her surprise, Dru stops. "Why not?"

"You'll get violently ill," Lana explains. "You could even die."

"Why's that?" asks Dempsey.

"It's called decompression illness, and it's caused by coming up to the surface too quickly after a long or deep dive or if they don't breath right on the way up," Lana says.

Dru laughs. "Not breathing right. How do you breath wrong. In, out. In, out. No one can mess that up.

Lana glares at him. "Anyway, they make new shellfish gatherers in Four go through a week long training before they are even sent on a dive. My father went through it. It's so important, a matter of life or death if you do it wrong."

"Too bad we don't have a week," Medallion says. "I'm almost out."

"That's why I'm giving you a crash course," Lana says.

She then gives the other members of her alliance a diving lesson, with Sitka chiming in with the little information he knows. The fifteen year-old girl from Three watches from her hiding place, soaking in Lana's information. She had spent the morning trying to teach herself how to swim. The Five-Seven male alliance spies from far away. Eventually, the career alliance makes its way to the surface, where a boat waits, anchored to the bottom of the ocean, full of a pile of oxygen tanks. The alliance spends some time in the open air before detaching their tanks and replacing them. After they descend, the boys from Five and Seven followed by the girl from Three take their turns. The Career alliance splits off, some to look for food, others to look for tributes, and one to guard the supplies.

Meanwhile, the other tributes are having more trouble with the oxygen. The boy from Ten tries to surface, but goes up too fast in a panic. To make matters worse, he holds his breath, trapping nitrogen in his lungs. He seems fine at first, but eventually shows signs of Arterial Gas Embolism, a serious form of decompression illness as he becomes dizzy and disoriented. A bloody froth flows out of his nose, dirtying the water and sending him into a panic. Eventually, the boy passes out. He stops breathing minutes later and his cannon sounds.

The girl from Seven, a twelve-year-old, doesn't even think of breaking the surface, instead, she frantically searches piles of supplies for spare oxygen tanks. Of course, she fails to find any. Her search wasted too much oxygen than she can afford, which causes her to fall unconscious and drown.

On their search, Dru and Sitka come across the girl from Eight. The sixteen-year-old can't swim, and it was a lucky break for her to get away from the bloodbath alive. She tries repeatedly to reach the surface of the water, but always ends up sinking to the ground. When the two careers reach her, she is too weak to even struggle against the boy from Two.

Day Two ends, and already, fifteen are dead. If Sitka's lucky, his Games will be short and not nearly as full of drama and grief as mine were. It feels heartless to think so, but anything that will bring my best friend home as unbroken as possible I find myself rooting for.

Day Three arrives and the careers split off once again. The other three tributes stay in hiding as they try to avoid the careers. It may end up being a rare year where the Careers end up as the final six and have to have a second bloodbath of sorts between themselves. In all honestly, I hope that isn't the case, since I'm not totally sure Sitka could handle an experience like that. He's strong, yes, and great in hand-to-hand, but has never attempted to fight more than one, maybe two opponents at once. However, the odds are definitely in the Careers' favor this year, unless a game-changing betrayal occurs.

As it turns out, one member of the pack _does_ have betrayal in mind, but it's not until Day Four that he carries out his plan. Dempsey and Lana are on a tribute search when a rockslide pins her leg, crushing it and causing her to cry out in pain. She swears, trying to pull her leg free without any success.

"Dempsey, help me!" Lana begs, gritting her teeth from the pain.

Dempsey stops swimming, but doesn't approach her. "No, I don't think so."

Lana clearly wasn't expecting such an answer. "... And why not? You're my ally."

The boy from One sighs. "Oh, Lana, not all people from One are idiots. Surely you didn't think that."

"Of course not, but if you don't help me out of here, I'm going to start to think you're one!"

Dempsey laughs, a barking, maniacal laugh I've never heard from him before. "I promise you I am not an idiot. See, the way I figure this is going to go, is all the other three will be dead in two, three days tops. That will leave the rest of us to battle it out in a final six-way battle. As much as I hate to admit it, in this arena, swimmers have the advantage, and no one here can compare to you and Holland in the swimming department. So, I'll leave you here to die and say we were attacked, and you were killed."

Lana can only stare as Dempsey cuts himself in several places, making it seem as though he was in a fight before swimming away. She screams after him, "you asshole! You're insane!"

Dempsey stops and shrugs. "Maybe, but most victors are insane when they come out of here anyway. What's wrong with being insane going in?" He swims off, ignoring Lana's screaming and swearing behind him.

The next couple of hours are intense. Dempsey spurts out a story about all three non-Career tributes attacking him and Lana, which results in her being killed. It's a logical story, since a cannon for the girl from Three was sounded after she stepped on a highly venomous, Capitol-enhanced sea urchin. What he didn't think of was this evening, when the Three girl's, not Lana's picture will be in the sky.

When the cameras return to Lana, she is still struggling, and the boys from Five and Seven are approaching her.

"Why do you think the Careers left her there?" the boy from Five whispers. "I mean, she probably wasn't swimming out here alone.

"I don't know why the Careers do anything," his ally mutters.

The two boys manage to sneak close to Lana, but she whips around and sees them before they can do anything about it. She throws the only knife she has on hand, but she has to twist her body and can't get the right angle on it, so it misses. I can't bare to watch as the boy from Seven sends an ax through towards Lana's back.

The sound of a cannon tells me Lana is dead, and I'm not sure how to feel. Lana was a girl I once loved and despite the hurt she put me through, her death is still a major blow to me. Sitka's chances have now improved now that we are down to the final seven, but Lana was a part of my history as well, something I can't forget. Now, I can't concentrate. It may be selfish of me, and if something happens to Sitka while I'm gone, I'll never forgive myself, but I need a distraction.

"Well, now I can relax," Thunder says as his monitor shuts down. His comment pushes me past the edge.

"No, you're not done," I snap. "We still have one more tribute. I need help."

"Fine, fine," Thunder sighs. "Not like their doing much anyway. Go run off to your Capitolite."

As usual, I have to resist the urge to give Thunder what he deserves. Peeking at my list of clients, I see one I can tolerate, Verity Rex.

Verity is a thirty-seven-year-old widow. Her husband, an advisor to President Snow, had passed away ten years ago at age thirty after only four years of marriage. Since then Verity has felt lonely, since she never had kids or gotten remarried. She's a frequent client of mine, usually buying me every time I am in the Capitol. She doesn't always want to sleep with me though. Sometimes, she just wants to talk. Verity may be twenty years older than me, but I have grown fond of her, in a non-romantic way. Unlike most Capitolites, she's considerate of my feelings, and doesn't push sex on me if I clearly don't want it. She's usually home and doesn't mind how much notice I give before I come to see her. Tonight, however, she's surprised to see me.

"Oh, Finnick, honey," she says as she opens the door. "What are you doing here? I just saw what happened to poor Lana."

"I need a distraction," I say.

Verity opens the door wider, inviting me in. "What kind of distraction are you looking for?"

I hesitate. "Alchohol. But not too much… I want to stay sober."

Verity nods. "Of course, Finnick. Take a seat, please."

Verity heads to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. We talk for a bit, about losing tributes and about simple things like her hair salon before moving on to nonsense. Talking about nothing in particular helps me to forget where I am, something I needed desperately.

"Finnick, do you ever get paid for your visits, or does Snow keep all the money?"

"I don't see a penny," I reply.

"Oh, I must pay you something. I have diamonds, or silver, or gold…."

I shake my head. "There's nothing I want from you, Verity. Only your friendship."

The Capitolite frowns. "Surely there must be something… Let me think, I'm sure I'll come up with something."

I don't argue with her. I'm needed back in the mentor room, and Verity completely understands. Just because I lost someone today, doesn't mean I can forget my best friend. He still needs me. I have to stay afloat.

* * *

><p>On Day Five, Sitka and Antonia run into the boys from Five and Seven, their last opponents besides their allies. It's a rough battle, and Antonia managed to kill the boy from Seven. As for the boy from Five, he escapes with his life. Sitka swims away from the fight with only a shallow slice on his side. On the way back to the ship, a second cannon sounds.<p>

"What are the chances of that being the boy from Five and we'll have the final battle when we get back to the ship?" Sitka asks.

Antonia only shrugs. I guess she doesn't really care at this point who's dead. She knows everyone must die at some point in order for her to live. When she and Sitka arrive at the ship. They find a shaken-up Medallion and a slightly confused Dempsey, but no Dru. I can't say I blame her. I'm a bit shaken up myself, after witnessing a scene on the main screen that the other tributes missed out on only about a half hour ago.

"What happened?" Sitka asks. "Where's Dru?"

"Shark attack," Medallion murmurs after a few seconds of silence. "Dru speed right towards it. I froze up. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe… I - I don't know what came over me… Anyway, apparently the shark was satisfied with only one victim."

"Your sister," Sitka blurts without thinking. "That's how she died."

Medallion glares at him. "I don't want to talk about her. Besides, they were different, smaller and they could walk on land. This was only one. I can't believe I was so cowardly."

Sitka and the others seem to realize that Medallion isn't nearly as upset about not helping Dru fend off the sharks as she is about showing fear. They also sense that the District One girl wants to be left alone, and leave Medallion in peace for a while as Dempsey and Sitka plan their next move. Their developed plan is simple. First thing in the morning, all four Careers will go on a hunt for the boy from Five. Once he's dead, a four-way final battle will commence. Everyone agrees to play fair, but judging by the way Sitka nervously runs his hand through his hair, he's a skeptic that everyone will stay true to their word. Honestly, so am I.

A sponsor asks the mentors from One and Two, along with Thunder and I, to send the careers a seafood feast, to keep their energy up. In addition, I am able to purchase some medicine for Sitka's wound. The Careers seem surprised by the gifts, since so far in the Games, the alliance has had it easy, and longed for few supplies.

First thing in the morning, the Careers set out. It seems as though their may be a final at any time, and Capitolites and mentors alike are on edge, especially the pair from Five, who are so close to bringing a tribute home, yet with even worse odds than ever before with four trained tributes against a single eighteen-year-old boy from the power district. The odds for Newton, or Newt as his mentors call him, are not good.

The Careers swim along peacefully, until out of nowhere, a long, orange tentacle reaches out of a hole in a rock and wraps itself around Sitka's leg, yanking him closer. Following the tentacles path, the camera zooms in on a monstrous octopus, one that is currently curling more tentacles around my best friend. I can't look away, but yet I don't want to watch. I'm helpless. Nothing I can send will help Sitka escape, not when his own thrashing doesn't even make the octopus flinch.

"Sitka!" Medallion cries.

She swims forward, armed and ready to attack, but is distracted by the sharp pain of Dempsey's spear in the back of her thigh. Meanwhile, Sitka is turning blue from lack of air. The octopus scatters his oxygen tank, but doesn't stop squeezing. I grip the edges of the chair so hard my hands turn a ghostly pale. The mentor room is so silent, the sound of the crunching of the bones and the booming of the cannon to follow is deafening.

I want to scream, or punch my screen, or destroy something, anything, but I don't do any of that. Instead, I do something I've never done in front of Capitolites, Peacekeepers, Snow, or even my fellow mentors. I slide out of my chair onto the cold linoleum floor and dissolve into tears.


	24. Chapter 24: Secrets

**Author's Note: As I usually do when I end a story, I would like to thank everyone who read, followed, and favorited this story over the year and a half I took to write it. I was in the second half of my junior year of high school when I started, and now I'm starting college, so I'm incredibly thankful you've stayed with me for so long!**

**I'm saying this here instead of at the bottom of the chapter because I don't want to ruin the mood. If the ending gives you the feeling that you want to know more, I'm sorry. If that's you though, everything you'd want to know is found in my story **_**Wipe Away the Tears**_**, which is complete. Feel free to read it if desired. **

**SPECIAL THANKS to my reviewers, listed in order by which they reviewed: Jess, xx-Want-a-Sugar-Cube-xx, , Simply one Hell of a writer2, Kate, Celtic, Mysfortune, Prowriter13, stygian-apocalypse, Ashley, Shuckfaced Crank, FOXFACE4444, "Lije" (a guest), StellarEV, youngpatriot, , "Guest", "Fire" (a guest), Josephm611, The Tributes From Two, EveryoneLovesUri, and anyone else who stumbles across this in the future. 21 reviewers, 133 reviews, and counting. I love you all.**

**Chapter 24: Secrets**

"_There are no secrets that time does not reveal."_

_Jean Racine, 17th century French playwright_

After the loss of Sitka, I suffer a brief lapse in memory. I'm told later by Thunder that after the octopus mutt attack, Medallion "went ballistic". Infuriated with Dempsey's betrayal to both her and Sitka, she went into a rage, killing Dempsey on the spot. Antonia, meanwhile, had swam off. The following day, Newt from Five ambushed Antonia while she exchanged her oxygen tank for a new one and managed to kill her, but not without injuring his arm. In the finale, Medallion overpowered Newt and was crowned victor of the sixty-eighth annual Hunger Games.

I return to District Four as an even more broken shell of myself than when I left. Even Thunder knows not to bother me. As expected, my mother and Mags wait to welcome me home. I greet them with hugs, and Mom reminds me I can always talk to her whenever I need. Mags doesn't say so aloud, but her eyes do all the talking as she scans me up and down with her concerned, grandmotherly eyes.

Most days, I keep to myself, hidden away in my room or on the beach. Mom begs me not to shut down again and to at least talk to Mags, who is always waiting for me with fresh cookies, toasty coffee and cold milk. Eventually, I do. As usual, I find comfort from being with Mags. This year, however, her company does me little good. Deep down, I know I'll recover, but as of right now, I am at an ultimate low.

As the victory tour approaches, I force myself to act normal, as if I'm not at all affected by the last Games. By now I'm a skilled actor. I whiz through clients faster than ever before and I barely care. I play my part, and although I still feel dirty, I am distracted, until images of Lana flood my mind. I push her down and continue on. By the time Medallion arrives in the Capitol, I have completed my list, and a pleased Snow assigns me more for the party.

My night is not too full to take all my attention, however, and I find time to introduce myself to Medallion and offer my congratulations. "May I interrupt?" I ask a younger Capitolite male as he dances with the newest victor.

"Certainly. I don't want to hog such a beauty, Mr. Odair," he says before turning to Medallion. "Enjoy him, Ms. Breckenridge. My sister says he's simply _divine_ in bed. I wouldn't know, I only have eyes for the ladies. Oh, Ms. Lumiere! Cashmere, darling!"

The man heads off to dance with the victor of the sixty-fourth Games, leaving Medallion to make a disgusted face towards his back. "So you're the famous Finnick Odair," she says. It's not a question. She knows exactly who I am.

"That I am. And I know who you are, miss famous Medallion Breckenridge."

She studies me for a bit. "You won my sister's Games."

I nod. "Merit was my friend. I regret not being able to help her more."

Medallion sighs. "There is no such thing as friends in the Games. Only allies, and even they can't be trusted. You should know that better than almost anyone, Odair."

She has a point there. "Just the same, I think in another world, we would have been friends. I'm sorry for your loss."

Medallion hesitates. "I am too," she says finally. "I'm going to be honest with you, though. Merit wasn't fit for the Games. She never was. As much as I love her, she wasn't a fighter. Maybe that's _why _I loved her."

Before I can reply, another Capitolite cuts in. "May I have this dance?" He whisks her away, Medallion rolling her eyes at me over his shoulder. It seems she still has her innocence, although judging by her beauty and popularity, that won't last long. Let her enjoy it.

* * *

><p>When the sixty-ninth Games arrive, I am thankful to have Marissa Swan by my side. Besides Mags, Marissa is my favorite victor to be around. She is respectful, yet friendly, and doesn't ask questions. After last year, she is exactly what I need. Her turn to mentor also means I will have Mags back next year, which is something to look forward to.<p>

My tribute, Fen, is a reaped fifteen-year-old. He wants nothing to do with me, Marissa, or his district partner, and Crysta has to drag him to training each day. He even goes so far as to claim that he wants to die.

"Should I even bother with him?" I ask Marissa one night while Fen and Aqua are at training.

"I wouldn't push him," she replies, "but don't give up on him."

I do as I usually do, making sponsors for Fen and doing my best as his mentor. The sponsors I collect donate because they like _me_, not because they like Fen. I don't spend a cent on him though, because Fen is killed on Day Two by the boy from Two, placing fifteenth. Aqua doesn't make it much farther, coming in tenth after stepping on a poisonous cactus plant on Day Five. The medicine Marissa sends fails to save her.

With both my tributes gone in the first five days, I have plenty of time for clients. Verity Rex is on the list, and I go to her for a bit of a break. She welcomes me with a smile and open arms.

"Finnick, do come in," she says. "I just started some tea."

I thank her and step inside. Verity's home is simple, yet homely, painted with modest colors like pale yellows and blues and forest greens. Living by herself without a single avox, Verity has limited furniture, preventing her apartment from becoming over crowded. I settle myself back into her plushy couch, closing my eyes and enjoying the peace while Verity brings tea from the kitchen.

"I know you aren't interested in intercourse," Verity says, "but what about cuddling? I don't want to force you, of course, but I haven't held someone in my arms for so long, and I crave the feeling. I'm in a difficult time right now."

Cuddling is such a simple favor to ask of me, and Verity has always been kind and respectful to me, so I open my arms to her. Sitting down next to me, she snakes her arm around my back and rests her head on my shoulder. "Finnick, I believe I know how to pay you."

"Do you?"

She gazes up at me with dark, unnatural sapphire blue eyes. "With secrets," she says, grinning like a maniac.

"Secrets?"

"Yes, secrets. I know many secrets, secrets about politics and our government, secrets I shouldn't know, secrets about Snow. Would you like to hear them?"

I stare at her. "Are you sure ? That might not be safe for you. Tell me honestly, Verity, can you be one-hundred percent certain your apartment isn't bugged."

"The Capitol has no reason to bug my home. I'm a mere, innocent citizen to them. Even if I am, let the secrets get out. I don't care what happens to me."

"Verity -"

"No," she interrupts me. "I'm a widow. You're one of my only true friends. I am by no means suicidal, but I am not afraid of death. If I die standing up against Snow, than so be it. Now are you going to let me speak?"

I nod and she begins.

"My husband, Albanus, passed away ten years ago. He was only thirty, and because no thirty-year-old dies straight out of the blue, I had an autopsy done. Multiple doctors proclaimed his death to be a suicide, a combination of too much morphling and alcohol, but I know my husband. He was healthy and strong and hadn't been prescribed any medicine, nor was he a drug addict taking morphing to become intoxicated, so I knew his death couldn't be from suicide, but rather _homocide. _The last person to be with him the night he died was Snow.

"You may wonder where my proof is. Albanus was one of the president's advisors, you see, and he'd tell me stories I couldn't repeat to anyone else, the same secrets I am about to tell you. Snow is a very powerful man, rising to power at such a young age. To keep his power, he kills anyone he sees as a threat. My husband was a threat. Snow poisoned my husband along with many others.

"Snow began murdering his competition even before he became president. President Simmons, who was president from the end of the dark days until a few months after the victory tour of the twenty-fifth games, was said to have died of a heart attack. In reality, he had been poisoned by his most trusted senator, Coriolanus Snow. A man by the name of Addamus took over, but few remember him, as he too perished by the the hands of Snow after only four months in office. A disastrous twenty-sixth Hunger Games followed as the Head Gamemaker tried to run both the country and the Games until a permanent replacement was found. A week later, Snow seized the throne.

"Presidents Simmons and Addamus weren't Snow's only victims. The president quickly disposed of any senator, advisor, or Gamemaker he saw as a threat to his reign, whether they disagreed with his views too often, nosed around too much, or rose up the power ladder too quickly. Albanus was too nosy and knew too much. Therefore, Snow killed him."

For a few moments, I'm speechless. "How many people has he murdered?" I finally asked.

"It's hard to say," Verity admits. "In just tributes alone, nearly a thousand. Add that to floggings, Peacekeeper induced executions, and poisoning powerful leaders, the number is probably closer to fifteen hundred, possibly even two thousand."

"And victors' fathers," I mutter.

"What was that?"

"Never mind." I stand up. "Thank you for the secrets. I enjoyed hearing them."

"Good bye, Finnick. There is certainly more where they came from."

"Goodbye, Verity. See you soon."

I slip out the door, shutting the door softly behind me. For some reason, having blackmail against Snow makes me happier than when I came in.

* * *

><p><em>One Year Later, 70th Hunger Games<em>

"Finnick, honey, wake up. You're going to be late for the reaping."

I open my eyes, feeling twelve again. "Mom," I groan. "I'm nineteen. I can be on time myself."

Mom gives me a rueful smile. "Well, Finn, sometimes I forget that. I hope you still appreciate blueberry pancakes for breakfast."

I grin. "Thanks, Mom."

When I was younger, pancakes were a special treat, reserved for birthdays, holidays, and the day following reaping day when I was twelve and thirteen. Now, they are a luxury I can afford any morning I want. When I take a seat at the table, I find a stack of five large pancakes doused in butter and syrup and a steaming mug of coffee, complete with a pile of sugarcubes, twice the amount I had been allowed as a kid. Mom has gone soft on me.

"When are you going to bring me home a girl?" Mom asks.

"Excuse me?" I reply, my mouth full of pancakes.

"Finnick, don't talk with your mouthful," Mom scolds. "I asked you when you are going to bring home a girl. You haven't brought one home in years, not since we moved in here. Are you ashamed of me?"

"Mom, no," I sigh, even though I know she doesn't really believe that. "I'm only nineteen. I've got time."

"Well, hurry up," Mom says. "I want grandchildren."

I sigh again. When Mom has her heart set on something, she is never changing her mind. I don't have the heart to tell her that I could never endanger the life of any girl I'd love enough to bring home, let only threaten the life of a child who would surely be reaped even if I'm on my best behavior.

When it is time to go to the reaping, I kiss my mom on the cheek and stroll over to Mags's. Linking arms with my mentor, we make our way to the stage. As usual, the mayor gives his speech and lists off all seven of our victors, even the two who are dead. Crysta plays the anthem and shows the annual video before stepping to the podium.

"Welcome, welcome to the Seventieth Hunger Games! I wish you all the best of luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor." Crysta swirls her hand around in the reaping bowl before drawing a name.

"Annie Cresta!"

_Shit. _I know that name. The last time I saw the face that matched the name, Annie was a shy little twelve-year-old who Sitka teased me about. Now, she is a stunning seventeen-year-old with reddish brown hair and dark green eyes. Even though she looks scared to death and seems ready to burst into tears at any moment, she is still radiant.

_Please. Someone volunteer, _I silently beg. No one does.

As Annie steps onto the stage, I give her a sympathetic smile, but already my mind is processing how to get her out of the arena alive. Suddenly, I find myself sick of always losing tributes. This year will be different though. I swear on my life. This year, I am determined to no longer be District Four's youngest victor. This year, I am determined to bring a victor home. This year, I am determined for District Four to be victorious.

Annie Cresta, I will not fail you. That's a promise.


End file.
